Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason
by HeatherAnne
Summary: Will Bridget and Mark be able to live happily ever after? Reviews welcome. Some chapters rated M for mature content.
1. Chapter 1 Decent and Indecent Proposals

Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason

Written by: C. Vaughan

2005-2008

Disclaimer: Most characters owned by Helen Fielding

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**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

(Sequel to Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason)

Chapter I

Decent and Indecent Proposals

_Weight: 8 st 2 (Crash diet in form of Thai prison stay); Fiancés: 1; Important Lessons Learned: 1_

**Thursday December 20**

**1:30pm My flat** Our enduring love really does transcend any reasonable explanation. Am now convinced of it. What a fool I had been to ever doubt Mark Darcy. Just because he didn't always seem to love me the way I wanted him to, or show his love in frequent intimate gestures, or never quite fit into the mold that I had carved as being the prototype of the ideal man, doesn't mean that he didn't love me with all that he was capable of. And now, thanks to Jude, Shazzer, Tom, and Magda's enlightenment of the grandiose, yet unconventional manner in which he now _has_ proven his love, am going to take the chance to reclaim that love I had thought was lost to me forever.

**5:15pm Mark's house **Was like a surreal dream I never wanted to awaken from. It had all happened so amazingly fast. Entered the corridor of the Middle Temple Inns of Court, soaking wet following a rather unfortunate mishap with a puddle. Was sorry for interrupting such an important lawyer's meeting, but impetuosity would not let what I had to say wait any longer. Not this time. Politely introduced myself to a roomful of dignitaries and professed my love for Mark, right there before them all. Stood nervously clutching my purse with a white-knuckled death grip as he speechlessly stared back at me. Became panic-stricken, instantly feeling as if I had made a v. grave mistake in listening to friends who quite obviously had misinterpreted Mark's actions of releasing me from prison. Was perhaps merely carrying out orders after all.

He mumbled something incoherent before leading me by the elbow from the large room into the more private corridor. Then he facetiously criticized my declaration of love as not being romantic, but then it happened. He asked me to marry him. My lovely Mark Darcy asked me to be his wife.

Once behind closed doors of his chambers, Mark took me in his arms and held me close for a long while without uttering a sound. He was gazing so deeply into my eyes, was sure he could see my soul.

"My darling Bridget," His eyes were glassy as he spoke. "I've missed you so. I'm just so lost without you." He rested his head against mine. "But wait, one thing…"

"What is it Mark? Anything…"

"You didn't actually answer my question…Will you marry me?"

"Yes Mark! Yes, yes, yes! I would be honored to be your wife. I love you so much. I can't imagine my life without you." By now I was crying. He wiped my tears with his kisses.

"I love you Bridget. I always have. I'm so sorry that I've ever made you doubt that. I will spend the rest of my life making up for everything that I've done…or rather haven't done." Had never heard Mark speak with such earnest, desperate emotion before.

Was lost in his familiar scent, his warm, loving embrace, remembering all too well what I had missed about him most. It had been far too many months since we had held each

other so intimately. Our mouths came together with such urgency that I lost my breath.

"I want to take you…" He flashed a salacious grin. "…home right now."

"Mark Darcy, how dare you be so vulgar," I teased. "But even still…I think you may be needing this key back." Mark gladly accepted my flat key and deposited it into the pocket of his suit jacket.

He fished through his trouser pocket and pulled out a key ring and removed one of the keys. "Why don't you take my key and I'll meet you at my place." Turning a corner for sure. In all the months prior to our separation, had spent very little time at Mark's house and never had I spent the night. Certainly have never had a key. Was like I now possessed the keys to the kingdom and all it's splendor and glory.

Our mouths came together again forcefully and we fell against a bookcase.

"You make my heart grow every moment that I'm with you, do you know that?" he breathed into my hair fervently. Pressed so closely, our chests heaving together as one, it did not escape my notice that his heart wasn't the only thing growing at that particular moment. Hmmm…

Began fumbling with his belt to release his growing passion. "Oh God, no Bridget! There is a room full of people waiting for me. I can't do this now...here. For God sake, the door isn't even locked." He protested, but made no action to stop me. His trousers dropped to the floor and I took him in my hand. His eyes were closed and a bead of sweat trickled from his brow. "Oh Bridget…" He breathed an expletive as his fingers began to work their way up the backs of my thighs dragging my dress up with them.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door. "Mr. Darcy? Are you in there? We really do need to get back to work" Mark abruptly removed his hands from my person and swallowed hard, but still firmly within my grasp.

He grabbed my wrist, trying unsuccessfully to free himself. "I'll…I'll be right there Mr. Hernandez," he managed to announce weakly. Couldn't help but to giggle a bit at Mark's struggle with such a departure from his comfort zone.

"Very well then.." The sound of footsteps faded down the corridor.

"Bridget, I have to go. I can't do this now."

"I thought you wanted to be more spontaneous?" My tongue began to trace the frame of his strong jaw and the dimple of his cleft chin, ignoring his pleas.

"I do Darling, but not at the risk of being disbarred for indecent exposure. But I am trying…I really am trying." He seemed caught in a crossfire between desire and duty. I knew that he meant every word of what he was saying.

"Just trust your heart Mark." I placed my hands against his pounding heart. "Just trust your heart," I whispered more softly, and then…hmmm

Dismissed myself from Mark's office, confident that he would not be one second longer at work than he needed to be.

**6:00pm **Am sitting in Mark Darcy's stark, lifeless sitting room anxiously awaiting his return from work, still thinking about everything that had happened: Mark's proposal and then a rather Bill Clinton/Monica Lewinsky-esque tryst in his chambers. Do believe that I am the happiest girl in the world.

**6:50pm **Wish Mark would get home soon. Am getting sleepy…think I'll just lay down in his bed to wait for him in manner of sexy screen vixen...or Goldilocks. Wonder which scenario he will prefer. Naughty or innocent?

**1:15am **Awoke to gorgeous man propped on elbow next to self…watching me sleep. Did he awaken me with thought vibes??

"I had never realized before just how peaceful and beautiful you are when you sleep." He spoke in a whispered tone, pushing a stray hair from my face.

"Because I'm not cocking something up when I'm unconscious, is that what you mean?"

"Don't be silly," he smiled.

"Mark Darcy! I was joking, but that is the reason, isn't it?" I sat up and climbed off of the huge white bed in protest, but he caught my arm and pulled me back.

"Bridget, I'm always intrigued by your unpredictability. This afternoon's encounter in my chambers was no exception. There is no other woman like you." He pulled me to him, both of us on our knees atop the bed. He began to nibble my ear. "You know how lawyers enjoy a challenge."

We shagged passionately as if no time had passed at all. Afterward, as we laid gazing into one another's eyes, I thought back to the disdainful way he had looked at me in that prison cell and a tear wetted my eye. "Oh how I have missed you," I told him while running my fingertips through his soft brown waves. We kissed tenderly before slowly making love again. Mmm…I could not get enough of this man, my future husband.

Mark does love me. Of this I am confident. I just have to remember to love him just as he is, as he loves me for who I am.

Nevertheless, Mark has so much to learn…and teach him I will.

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The timeline varies from the film version of Bridget Jones: Edge of Reason, as Bridget arrived back from Thailand much earlier in the year. However, this is my version of the events that followed Mark and Bridget's reunion.


	2. Chapter 2 Oh Bugger!

Disclaimer: All characters owned by Helen Fielding

Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason incorporates a combination of characters and events that took place in both The Edge of Reason novel and film. (i.e. Rebecca Gillis is not a lesbian, but was in fact hot for Mark; Richard Finch is a jerk but not the over-the-top psycho alcoholic that he was in the novel; and of course, Daniel is back…again.)

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter II

Oh Bugger!

_Weight: 8 st 6; Alcohol Units: 2(v.g.); Nicotine flavored gum pieces: 8; Cigarettes: 16 (Ugh! I'm trying); Realizations about friends: 1; Dozens of flowers delivered: 2; Buggered up job opportunities: 1_

**December 21**

**7:30am Mark's house **Was a brilliant night of lovemaking, having little sleep due to impromptu amorous and loud shag sessions where Mark kept saying my name as if trying to convince me, or maybe himself that he wasn't thinking of Rebecca. Wicked stick insect had probably slept here. As newly reinstated girlfriend/fiancé hybrid, first order of business will be to set fire to bed…literally, not in metaphoric sexual way.

Mark has dutifully risen at 7:00am for work and is now in shower. Would love to join him. Hmmm… We've never shagged in the shower before…not in his shower anyway. Actually, in mine only once…sort of, after drunken ambush swiftly followed by extremely unfortunate and painful slippery soap incident. Mark was quite irritated and refused to touch me for three days after. Bittersweet memory indeed.

"Bridget…Bridget, what are you thinking about?" Mark emerged from the bathroom with nothing but towel on. Ding-dong! He kissed me tenderly on the lips and then smiled brightly. Oh have missed those sexy dimples. "Good morning my love. Sleep well?"

"Yes. What little there was of it." We exchanged playfully accusing glances. "You sir, are an animal." We snuggled momentarily and then he broke away, ripping towel off and tossing onto my head. Certainly not shy about flaunting his naughty bits in front of me.

**7:45am **Am now lounging atop bed, wearing only a sheet, watching silently as he goes about readying himself for day of boring lawyer meetings. Just opened a bureau drawer to reveal a dozen or so neatly folded pairs of underpants and pressed undershirts. Does he let his housekeeper handle his skivvies? Will this soon become my responsibility? Suddenly wonder if am expected to play the part of the dutiful wife and indulge him in all of his idiosyncrasies. Gah! He just opened large wardrobe, colorized to resemble a suicidally dreary rainbow of white, brown, charcoal, and black long sleeved dress shirts, suit jackets, and pants with just a tiny hint of blue and green thrown in. …sliding his long legs into a pair of charcoal slacks and now his toned arms into (surprise!) a starched white shirt. The only real mystery here is which tie will he wear…ah, the emerald green one…now flung carelessly around his neck. Would love to tie it for him in manor of 1950's TV housewife doting on loving husband…if I knew how. Note to self: Must learn to tie men's neckties to impress fiancé. Oooo…bow ties also, as will surely be attending many more haughty lawyer's suppers in future. …His feet are bare. The top three buttons of stuffy shirt not yet buttoned and so tuft of soft chest-hair is clearly visible. Hmmm…(Much sexier than Daniel Cleaver's bird chest!) Was like a strangely arousing reverse strip tease. Would really like to…Uh-oh! Has stopped to look at me…

**8:40am **"Bridget, what are you writing?" I shrugged playfully. "Awfully bold of you to write about me while I'm still in the room, don't you think?"

"We'll then why don't you come over here," I patted the mattress next to me, " and take a looky-loo if you're that curious." Was completely surprised when he did just that, neatly pressed and starched clothes and all. He playfully leaped onto the bed and we began to wrestle about. Don't really need to say what that led to. Weeeee!

**9:30am **Mark in different, almost identical, outfit rang office to say that he would be slightly late. Danced around room in Maria Von Trapp fashion, wearing nothing but the wrinkled white shirt I had taken right off of his back. He seemed to be enjoying my floorshow so tried to get him to join me. He declined with a smile, stiffly heading instead for the coffeemaker. But I shooed him, insisting that he sit down at the kitchen table while I pour him a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, the only real food sources I could find.

"Mark, honey, don't you eat? You're cupboards are practically bare!"

He slumped heavily onto one of the cold, chrome kitchenette chairs, the content expression on his face disappeared, replaced by what seemed to be embarrassment.

Stopped pouring milk into bowl and climbed sideways onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck as I did. "What's wrong?"

He looked at me sweetly, touching his forehead to mine. "Nothing is wrong…anymore." Neither of us said a word for several minutes, but instead just concentrated on being in each other's arms. "I love you Bridget." _Am so in love with Mark Darcy! Can't wait to be his wife_.

…phone rang, spoiling romantic moment. Was Mark's housekeeper, Yuki. Not same one from last year's debacle with schizophrenic child, a new one I've never met. Wanted to know when he wanted her to come by. Apparently he had called her last evening and given her the morning off. Good thinking. Would have hated to come out of bedroom stark naked to face scary large Oriental woman poised for attack with feather duster.

"Bridget darling, unfortunately I have to go to work. I have an important meeting with the U.S. and British ambassadors at noon that I must prepare for." He looked at me sadly. "I wish I could stay here with you. We have so much to talk about." He headed toward the foyer, grabbing his overcoat and portfolio, then turned back to me. "I'm so glad we are back together. I've missed you so."

_Wot? Back together? Suddenly realized that he has not mentioned impending nuptials at all. Did he bang his head against the headboard last night and forget that he had proposed? Oh no! No…no…no!_

"Bridget? Are you listening?…Your mobile is ringing." He closed the door behind him as I fumbled through my purse left on the sofa. Gah! Need a cigarette! Stuffed two pieces of nicotine gum into mouth and began to chew like a mad cow.

"Bridget Jones, where the fuck are you?" Was Richard Finch. Aaaahhh!

"I…uh…just got back with my boyfriend and I…uh…overslept. Sorry." Should have told him was being held captive in bank robbery or had fallen through manhole while hailing taxi to get to work.

"Whhhaaattttt! I am going to fire your arse if you don't get here in the next 15 minutes! Do you hear me! That _boyfriend_ of yours must have mental problems for taking you back."

"Actually, I took him…" Didn't hear me. V. rude to hang up on someone.

**10:35am Sit Up Britain office **Thankfully Sit Up Britain office much closer to Mark's house than my flat. Entered conference room to find no one. Morning briefing likely having ended over an hour ago. Bugger! Will be sacked for sure.

Saw Daniel Cleaver staring at me from his glass enclosed office as I walked toward my cubicle. Why does he get an office and I only get a three-sided box? _Stop staring at me. _Why isn't he out Smooth Guide-ing something…or someone?

Slumped into rolly office chair. Arrived with 2 minutes to spare. Of course, hair still wet and top looks like has been trampled by pack of wild animals. Couldn't find Mark's iron. Probably doesn't have one. Likely sends everything out to be pressed.

Richard sauntered up to desk tapping on his wristwatch. "So glad you could join us today Miss Jones. Your pay will be docked for the HOUR AND A HALF that you didn't bother to grace us with your presence. Now get the fuck to work!" Starts to walk away. "Oh, there will be ANOTHER briefing at 2:45 today. Do try to fucking show up, will you?" Really need a cigarette! Where is that gum?

Rude, foul-mouthed bastard!

Rang Jude and Shazzer at work and insisted upon meeting up at 192 for emergency summit ASAP. What am I going to do about Mark?

**Lunch Break at 192 1:30pm **Popped more nicotine gum into mouth and ordered glass of Chardonnay even though must return to Sit Up Britain office in 45 minutes, and began to blurt out story of Mark and the confusing marriage proposal.

"Dump him!" Jude and Shazz exclaimed simultaneously.

"Have you learned nothing from _Women Who Love Too Much_? Just detach, Bridget. You have to get rid of him once and for all. He's never going to change!" Jude spoke with angry righteousness.

"No!" They both looked shocked. "I love Mark. I don't want to dump him. I want to get past all of this crap and live happily ever after…with him." _Did I really say that? Just popped out of nowhere. Good for me!_

"Nothing has changed Bridge. Once a fuckwit, always a fuckwit! Men don't change," Shazzer exclaimed, arms waving expressively, cigarette hanging from mouth. "Daniel Cleaver for example. Fuckwittage galore."

"Yes, well Mark is _nothing_ like Daniel." I tossed back a second glass of Chardonnay. Now had ciggie hanging from mouth. Bugger!

Jude continued, "He's had all morning to talk to you about it and what does he do? Prances around naked and shags you. And now he's at work…with Rebecca and her perky little arse… He's using you Bridge."

"Yes, well I know for a fact that Mark is particularly fond of _my_ womanly, squishy arse," I replied earnestly. _Yeah me! _

"Oh, we are eating. Spare us the visual,." Shazz retorted rudely.

"Thanks a lot." Was wishing Tom and Magda were here for backup. They actually like Mark. (Tom really just wants to shag him, but…close enough.)

Bugger! Was supposed to be back at work 10 minutes ago. Left Jude and Shazzer dumbfounded after completely useless conversation.

V. proud of self for having backbone to defend Mark to Jude and Shazzer. Am really beginning to feel that they are just man bashing, over-the-top feminists. Wonder what Mark thinks about them?

**3:45pm Sit Up Britain office** Cannot believe the assignment have been given. Have been taken off Smooth Guidess duties for now to do an undercover expose' on internet dating successes and pitfalls. Richard says he wants it to be a truthful yet humorous piece, and so what better person to do it than me. For a brief moment actually thought he was paying me a compliment, but then he says he knows I'll screw up and the audience will love it. The good news is that the final product will be a special hour-long primetime Sit Up Britain if it all works out. This could be my chance to show my true reporting chops! Wonder how am going to research internet dating. Guess I'll have to learn to do more than word processing and sending and checking email. Wonder if Mark can teach me.

Got back to desk from conference room, anxious to tell Mark the lovely news, to find a gigantic arrangement of two dozen red roses. Women in the cubicles around me swooned and clutched their hands to their hearts as I pulled the card from the center of the arrangement.

_To my lovely Bridget, light of my dreary life,_

_ You have brought so much richness and joy to my heart. I know that I am not always able __to express myself in the ways that I should, but please never doubt my devotion to you. I can not possibly find the words to tell you how much I adore you._

_ Yours forever,_

_ Mark _

I began to weep.

**4:50pm **Getting ready to leave for the day. Want to pop into Tesco Metro to stock Mark's kitchen with a few things before he gets home. Oh God! Daniel is coming over to my cubie.

"Hello Daniel. Wot do you want?" I asked coldly, not looking up. Instead began to shuffle papers in effort to look busy. Still have not forgiven his behavior in Thailand.

"I was very disappointed to hear that you won't be my sexy little Smooth Guidess this time around." He plucked out one of the roses from the vase.

"Put it back," I snapped. He replaced the flower.

"Nice flowers. Let me guess…Darcy?" I said nothing, kept shuffling. "So I guess you are now engaged? Though I don't see a ring. Shame on him."

"Wot are you talking about?" Finally looked up.

"Well, Darcy did ask you to marry him, didn't he?"

"That's none of your business…How did you know?"

Daniel began to chuckle smugly. "Well, ironically, I suggested it to him." I stared at him, unable to speak. "You see Bridge, he's too boring and pathetic to think of such a thing on his own. You really should know this by now."

"Ok Daniel Cleaver! I've heard enough. Just go away."

He started to leave but then leaned against the cubicle wall again. "So do you think Darcy will be open-minded about you dating other men?" I looked at him strangely. "Well you did accept the internet dating assignment, right?" He winked, turned, and left.

**5:05pm **Oh my bloody hell! What has Richard Finch done to me?

**5:07pm **Keep replaying Daniel's words back through my head. Had Daniel convinced Mark to propose? Does he really want to marry me? I have to date other people?

**5:10pm **Forget the bloody nicotine gum, I need a cigarette!


	3. Chapter 3 Proposals: Part Deux

Disclaimer: All characters owned by Helen Fielding

Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason

Chapter III

Proposals: Part Deux

**Friday December 21 (cont.)**

**5:13pm Sit Up Britain office **No more ciggies or gum. Buuuggggeeeerrrr! In desperation, scoured rubbish bin under desk for wad of gum perhaps had not chewed to extinction. Found wad but was covered in fuzz. Better not. Will call Tom in San Francisco instead.

"Bridge you are my best friend, but you are literally unbelievable!" Tom began, after I explained the dilemma. "This was your trouble before. You are expecting the man to read your mind. If you want to know if he is serious about marrying you, then for Christ's sake, ask him." Began to chew pencil eraser.

"But he…"

"How is Mark supposed to know how you feel unless you bloody well tell him? You know he has to be hit over the head with a sodding brick to get any sort of clue about what you need from him emotionally. And if you love him as I know you do, then you are just going to have to learn to communicate."

"When are you coming home? Tom, I miss you. Your advice is just so much more…uh…normal." Tears began to roll down my cheeks. "Jude and Shazzer are angry with me and I'm not sure that I can even relate to them anymore. What's the matter with me?"

"Sounds like our little Bridgie is growing up. Just don't forget us little people when you're living up in the big house with your garden parties and fancy dinners. Ok?"

"Huh? I would never…"

"Listen Bridge, I've gotta run. …met this new guy, Charlie. He's fantastic. I just walked into the salon one day and there he was. I could swear I heard the Halleluiah Chorus. I'm positively giddy! So as you may have gathered, I'm a bit…er…indisposed for now. I'll call you soon. Ciao!

**5:27pm** Tom is v. smart poof. Miss him.

**5:28pm** Feel like am losing friends.

**6:55pm Mark's House **Used brand new key to let self in front door of posh town home, juggling grocery sacks and roses. Spent more than an hour shopping and waiting in bloody Tesco Metro queue. Still trying to get feeling back in fingers from holding sodding ice cold milk jug for 25 minutes, only to drop it 10 minutes later in the taxi causing horrendous white flood on seat and self's shoes. Ugh! Was charged extra fare for being clumsy oaf. Actually, not so much clumsy as was deep in thought. Had Daniel Cleaver somehow engineered Mark's proposal? Or was he just simply full of crap?

Need cigarette. No. Will not smoke in Mark's house…but if may soon be my home too…no, supposed to be quitting. Right. Where's that gum?

Wasn't sure if would find Mark home or not. In past he has never seemed to have overly predictable hours, especially if in court that day. Humph. Strange that he has not at least called though…did not mention this morning being in court today. Hope he's not trapped in a lift or similar with evil Rebecca.

No, No silly Bridget. Must make promise to self. Will be self assured and trusting of boyfriend/fiancé and not obsess over every stick insect that crosses Mark's path, as am not envious and quite content with own slightly puffy mid-section. More to love.

As does not appear to be in his housekeeper's job description to keep him properly nourished, went about stocking cavernous cupboards and fridge with groceries; nutritious type stuff that Mark used to always tell me I should buy for self, like fresh fruit and veggies. Is cold pizza for breakfast really so bad? Not that he minds my wobbly bits, he says, but so will be healthy. V. thoughtful nice man. Ooo…mobile ringing.

Was Mum. "Hello darling. I just called your flat and got your answerphone. Are you home?"

"Mother, if I were home, don't you think I would have picked up?" Mum is disastrously inept when comes to concept of mobile telecommunication, or of any other modern invention since the 1970's for that matter. "So how are you?"

"How am I? Dear, I'm positively at my wit's end dealing with the caterer, the florist, the photographer, the band,…"

"Wot?" I interrupted. Was Mum obsessing about my wedding already? I haven't even told her that am engaged! Don't really want to tell Mum or Dad until have bright sparkly diamond on finger. Not because am materialistic, but as proof that self was not just desperate and now delusional as well. Lack of said ring could suggest one of four things about Mark and mustn't get hopes up:

1. Was not serious about proposal.

2. Wants to be one of those modern couples that do not need encumbrance of rings to show commitment to one another.

3. Wants to get matching tattoos on our ring fingers. How very bohemian!

4. Can no longer afford ring, as has lost all money in stock market and is afraid to tell me.

"Hellooooo? Bridget? Briiiidddgget? Are you still there?" Mum trilled.

Shook thoughts from head, "Wo…Pardon?"

"Bridget have you forgotten that Daddy and I are reaffirming our vows on New Year's Eve?" Hmm…must have slipped my mind, HAVING JUST SPENT SEVERAL WEEKS IN FOREIGN PRISON. Wonder if Mum even realized that I was gone.

"No, of course not," I lied. Suddenly realized that Christmas is in 4 days as well. Gah!

"So when will you be round Bridget? I've already gotten your room ready for you Dear. You can stay through New Year since you are on holiday now, and with no boyfriend, well…and with all of the preparations that Una and I have been making for the wedding, Christmas dinner has completely flown out the window." She wants me to help with dinner? Clearly her mind has flown out the window as well, as am notoriously bad cook. Decided to ignore boyfriend comment."Jamie and his new girlfriend will be coming, you know?" Again, how would I know this? "Too bad you and Mark can't work things out. You two made such a lovely couple." We do, don't we?

"Uh…I don't know Mum. Listen, I'll have to ring you back. I'm getting another call. Byeee"

"But…"

Was Mark. Goody! "Hello my love. Where are you?" His voice always so deep and sensual. Hmmm…

"I'm at your house. Where are you?"

"I'm at your flat." We both started to laugh. "Seems we've gotten our signals crossed. I'll be right there."

**December 22**

**2:30am **10 minutes later Mark had come through the door dressed the part of proper English gentleman and swept me into his arms. "I've missed you terribly my darling." We shared a long, deep kiss. Hmmm…am in blurry love with lovely boyfriend/fiancé. "I want to take you out tonight. Do you mind?" Oooo, goody.

"How should I dress?"

"You are perfect as you are." He kissed me again. Was in drab, wrinkled work clothes with wet shoes. Was he blind? …Blind with love perhaps.

Walked together out into the unseasonably mild winter air. He opened the door of his Mercedes for me, and then climbed into the driver's side. Smiled, kissed me again, then we were off. We were not on the road long, as we came to a stop in front of my flat. Confused, I asked why we were here.

"Bridget, this is where it all began." Where what began? He opened the car door for me once more and then led me by the hand up the three flights of stairs. Always such impeccable gentlemanly manners. Was awestruck when he opened the door. Mark had left work early to turn my flat into a fantastic Christmas paradise. He stood near the door watching as I wandered around the room admiring the twinkling white lights and lovely arrangements of white and red poinsettias. Was as if self had transformed into Cinderella entering her first ball as a beautiful princess…even though in reality was in equivalent of ugly rumpled rags. An elegantly half-dressed, tall pine stood in the corner. Was truly the most beautiful tree I had ever seen.

"Do you like it?" Mark asked, sliding his arms around my waist from behind. "I thought that we could finish trimming the tree together."

"I love it. I love everything. And most of all I love you." We kissed under the mistletoe strategically placed in the center of the room. Hmmm…

The entryphone interrupted our rather passionate, quickly turning to naughty interlude. "I'll get that," Mark exclaimed darting for the phone, then the door.

Three men dressed in white smocks entered carrying silver platters. "Where shall we take these, Sir?" Mark pointed in the direction of the stairs leading to the roof terrace that Jude, Shazzer, and Magda had made sure that idiot builder, Gary, had finished while was …detained in Thailand. Was nice not to come back to holey flat. And now, Mark is sending strangers with food to the terrace to enjoy the view before self has even had the chance.

"What's going on Mark?" I moved toward the stairs but he stopped me.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

"Mark?" He turned back, winked, and then dashed up the stairs. Was feeling queasy with anticipation realizing something fantastic was about to happen.. Turned back toward the tree marveling at the pretty baubles and lights. All so rich looking. V. different from usual faded and scuffed 1970's hand-me-down glittery bulbs, homemade crafts, and tacky crushed tinsel thrown randomly in globs onto branches. Felt like was slipping into an alternate universe. Beginning to wonder how much life will change once married…if am in fact getting married. Will I become smug like all the others? Was feeling joyful but a bit sad too.

He returned a few minutes later with the three strangers in tow. They quietly left as Mark took my hand. Was shaking like a leaf. "Why are you trembling my darling?" He kissed my cheek. "I have something else to show you."

When the terrace door opened, knees got wobbly and thought I might faint dead away. Had not had chance to furnish or decorate terrace yet, but now was staring at yet another magnificent romantic movie-like scene of hundreds of twinkling white lights strung through a half dozen ficus trees, with the moonlit London skyline as the backdrop. In the center of the terrace were a small bistro table and two chairs set for candlelit coziness. Jazz played softly from somewhere. Was all so v. lovely. Just too surreal. Who is this romantic man? Had scarcely seen this side of him since our first month together a year ago.

"How on earth did you do all of this?"

"I must confess that I had a little help," he said sheepishly. Magda was gracious enough to assist me this afternoon. As you have reminded me on many past occasions, I'm rather aesthetically challenged." Couldn't help but giggle through the tears that were now flowing. So true. Poor man is practical to a fault. "But I assure you, this was all my idea, not hers. She just gave me a little, uh…guidance. I'm sure she will ring you tomorrow to inform you of what a ridiculous nervous wreck I was today. Actually I tried to call your friends Jude and Sharon…er…Shazzer? for their input as well, but neither of them called me back." Tried v. hard not to show emotion at mention of best friends' names. As Scarlett O'Hara always said, I'll think about that tomorrow.

Could see him taking deep breaths as if trying to maintain composure. Meanwhile am feeling like a blubbering fool completely overcome with emotion. He held out a chair for me then took his seat and pulled himself near. He wiped my tears. Then we shared a marvelous tender kiss and then a bottle of red wine as we talked and laughed effortlessly about our day.

"Your mother called while Magda and I were here. I'm not sure she realized that she was actually talking to a machine. She kept asking questions." I rolled my eyes and we laughed. "She said something about you cooking Christmas dinner. You're not really, are you?" He gave me a horrified look and I pinched him playfully in the arm. Told him about parent's purple wedding where will be required to wear hideous fuzzy vest and everything right down to knickers will be lavender. Mark suggested playfully that I model the knickers for him of course. Hmmm.

Decided not to mention job assignment.

Feasted on fantastic catered dinner from Bertorelli's: Caesar salad to start and Spaghetti Bolognese for main. Delicious! Resisted urge to act out Lady and the Tramp spaghetti scene with Mark. Might not seem sophisticated, but would be fun. Oh well.

As Mark served the last course of Tiramisu, he seemed to be growing increasingly uncomfortable in his seat in manner of small child doing "pee pee dance". "Are you alright?"

"Yes,…" Thought he was going to say something else, but he took a bite instead.

Took a deep sobering breath, but after half bottle of wine, was actually feeling a bit squiffy. Liquid courage. "Mark, why did you do all of this?"

He blinked several times then answered, "To show you how much I adore you. Do you not approve?" He looked hurt.

Suddenly Tom's voice played back in head: "If you want to know if he's serious about marrying you, then for Christ's sake ask him." So I did. Played out different scenarios first in head:

"_Mark, Daniel said that he suggested you marry me. Is that true?_

OR

_"Mark, I was just wondering, because you haven't said anything today, did you mean what you said yesterday about marrying me?"_

I needed to know, so I asked about Daniel. Thought Mark was going to pass out. The pained look in his eyes told me that there was much more to the story than what Daniel had told me…as usual. When will I learn? He put his head in his hands and then ran his fingers through his wavy hair. "Mark? Are you ok?" When he looked up, he had a tear in his eye. "Oh God Mark, I'm sorry. I love you. It doesn't matter…I didn't…" Began to panic.

He took several deep breaths. "Bridget…I wanted to propose, and NOT because Daniel Cleaver suggested it. I really did…just not like that. God! Why does that bastard continually try to interfere with my life...with us! " He stood abruptly, took a few circular steps, and then sat right back down. "When I asked you to be my wife, I didn't want to…Oh Christ. I didn't say anything earlier today because I wanted to do it again, the right way, with romance and candles…the way I know you would want it." He ran his hand over his face, as he was beginning to sweat. Then it happened. For real this time. He slid out of his chair and knelt down onto one knee, taking my hand as he did. I was shaking uncontrollably.

"Bridget, my life changed forever the moment I met you. Ok, well, maybe the second moment I saw you." He flashed a brief smile, dismissing the turkey curry fiasco then continued nervously. "I've never met anyone like you, so pure, honest, funny, and giving. Your eternal optimism, determination, and unpredictability challenges me; your beautiful blue eyes and infectious smile melt my heart; and most of all, your undying faith in me inspires me to be a better man…I love you Bridget Jones. Will you please be my wife?"

I ran my hands down the sides of his face, tears streaming down my cheeks. Heat flushing my face, arms and chest. "Yes, Mark. I will be your wife." I slid off of my chair down to my knees to evenly meet his intoxicating gaze. We kissed tenderly with an all encompassing hug.

"I have something for you, my darling." He reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved a small box. Oooo, love small, black fuzzy boxes. He'd thought of everything tonight and was so sweet. Don't understand why Jude and Shaz don't fancy him. Watched as he opened the box to reveal a rather opulent princess-cut diamond ring with smaller diamonds encircling the band. Became like an embarrassingly giddy little girl. Surprisingly, Mark just beamed as he watched my reaction then slid it onto my finger.

It is true! Mark Darcy wants to marry me and Daniel Cleaver had nothing to do with it! Yippee!

Both of us on path of humility and honesty, aware of our own weaknesses. Not a bad way to start our life together. We talked well past midnight; sitting snuggled together on the roof terrace gazing up at the starry night.

"Look, a falling star…Make a wish," Mark whispered into my ear.

"I did. It's already come true."


	4. Chapter 4 Repeat Performance?

Disclaimer: All characters property of Helen Fielding

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter IV

Repeat Performance?

Weight: 8st 8 (Must have been engagement dinner, so well worth it!); Times caught by fiancé admiring engagement ring: 465 (more or less); Jealous friends: 2; Children lost: 1; Childish overreactions: 2

**Saturday December 22**

**8:25am My flat **Waited 34 years for marriage proposal and now have gotten 2 (from same man) within 36 hours. Lying in bed admiring lovely token of love given to me by my betrothed. V. sparkly in morning light. Wonder how many carats it is?

**8:30am** Think will just snuggle up with sleeping fiancé. Hmmm

**8:31am** No. Would be more fun to ambush fiancé as am fancying a randy, morning shag.

**8:32am** Right. Better brush teeth first.

**9:10am **Mark not as receptive to idea…at first. Accidentally threw me off other side of bed, banging head against wall. Guess should have woken him a little more subtly before just mounting self upon him. Became awkward, pity shag.

**11:40am **Was staring at hand again when Mark came out of loo now wearing underpants. Aww. Smirked and shook his head at the sight of me and my girly daydreams before plowing back onto the bed playfully. Propped his head up on one elbow next to me, knee bent, in manner of sexy posed magazine centerfold model, minus staple through navel area. Hmmm

"So you like your ring?" He caressed my hand. "It looks beautiful on you." I smiled and kissed his cheek. "You know, Bridge, to be honest, this wasn't the ring that I wanted to give you."

"It wasn't?" I propped self up on arm as well so that our faces were just inches apart.

"No. Actually…" He sighed heavily. "Several years ago, my mother gave me my grandmother's engagement and wedding ring to give to the woman that I was going to spend the rest of my life with."

"Aww, Mark. That's so romantic."

"In theory, yes."

"So did you lose it?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes.…Unfortunately, I…uh, gave it to my ex-wife when I proposed to her."

"Wot!" Sat bolt upright in bed. "You gave _her_ MY ring?"

"Well, Sweetheart, you know…I had not yet met you then, not really anyway. That was 5 years ago. At the time, I thought she was The One."

"Well that was stupid!"_ How can an evil cow be "the one"?_

"I agree…now. But Bridge, be reasonable, no one goes into marriage thinking it's not going to be forever." Crashed back down onto pillow and covered bare breasts with sheet tightly with folded arms so that Mark couldn't see me. Stared intently at the ceiling.

He had spoken very calmly up until now, "Bridget, come on now. You're being childish." Shot him a dirty look then back at the ceiling. "Well, when you come to your senses, then we can continue this conversation." He got up and stalked back into the loo. Two minutes later, heard the shower running.

Looked again at fantastic bauble on left hand. He was right of course. I am acting like a child. Picked up phone to call Jude, hesitated, then called the number.

"Hello," she answered still half asleep. Bugger. Woke her up.

"Hi. It's me. How are you?"

"Bridget? Why are you calling me so fucking early?"

"Actually, it's 10:30."

"Oh, well, whatever. So…" Uncomfortable silence.

"Just wanted to tell you that Mark and I got engaged for real last night. He gave me a v. lovely engagement ring and a proposal meant for a princess. Isn't that fantastic?" Heart started to flutter remembering details of last night.

"That's great Bridge," she replied rather nonchalantly. "We'll just see how long it lasts before he fucks things up again. Honestly Bridget, I don't understand why you keep putting yourself through this. There are other fish in the sea you know beside Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver." _Wot is her problem!_

"Jude I was really hoping you could be happy for me. Now I see…well I've got to go. Bye." Hung up before she could reply, if she was even going to at all. Really wanted her opinion of the ring / evil ex-wife situation, but realized that would probably just give her more unfounded ammunition against Mark. I know what she would say anyway: "Mentionitis! Mentionitis! Get out now!" Must learn to not rely on biased opinions of friends and stand on my own. Make my own decisions. God, I need a cigarette! Bollocks! Left gum and cigarettes at Mark's.

Gathered sheet around me, as was still naked, swallowed pride, and meekly knocked on the door to the loo. "Yes?"

"May I come in?"

He opened the door with one hand while continuing to shave with the other. Perched self on closed toilet seat, forming cocoon with sheet. "I'm sorry. You're right. I was acting foolish." He continued shaving without so much as a word or even a glance in my direction. Hmph! The arrogance! "Mark, look at me." He stopped and looked down at me. "Mark, I love the ring that you've given me. It's just that, well, I just wish that I had met you first. Not because of your grandmother's ring, but because I would never have hurt you the way that she did. She didn't deserve you or the ring. If I ever see her, I'm going to…" Mark cut me off with a tender kiss. Hmmm

"I love you Bridget." He kissed me again sweetly. "I had hoped that was why you were so upset."

Dropped sheet and climbed into shower. Mark finished shaving and left the room.

Later found Mark, dressed casually, casual for him anyway, in khakis and t-shirt, up on the terrace with a cup of coffee, reading the paper. "Hi Darling. There's coffee made in the kitchen if you want some." Sat down next to fiancé with coffee to admire new view of the city and lovely glittering ring in sunlight. Was lovely peaceful scene of domesticity. Mark pretended to read but could see him watching me over top of paper.

**6:15pm** Phone rang…Perhaps Jude or Shazzer calling to apologize for being miserable, unsupportive friends. Was Magda. "Bridget, hope I've called late enough that you aren't still in bed." She snickered at her own comment.

"No, I was just admiring my engagement ring" Held out hand. Unexpectedly, Mark entered the sitting room and encircled my waist from behind, took outstretched hand in his own and brought it to his lips. "How are you Magda?" He began to kiss my neck and shoulders…his teeth grazing my skin…V.v.v. distracting.

"I'm fantastic. So did you enjoy your special evening?"

"Yes, it was brilliant…flawless in fact." Mark traced the curves of my ear with his tongue. Found it v. hard not to drop phone.

"I think it all was very difficult for him to do. That sort of stuff doesn't come easy for him you know. He was so cute. All he wanted to do was impress you."

"Trust me, I was more than impressed," managed to squeak out as Mark continued to work his magic on the back of my neck.

"Bridge, was wondering, if you can manage to tear yourself away from your handsome fiancé for a few hours, if you'd like to do a bit of Christmas shopping. I don't imagine you were able to pop into many shops while in that Bangkok prison."

"Um…yes. That sounds fantastic." Mark now flooding side of face with soft, slow kisses. Feeling flushed…knees weakening…heart pounding. "Will you be round to pick me up or should Mark drop me by your place?"

"I'll come round at 2:15, ok?"

"Perfect" Was now 1:20. As soon as phone was hung up, Mark scooped me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom. Had that randy shag after all, minus throbbing head trauma. Hmmm…

Was still trying to retrieve clothes from all over the floor when Magda arrived. Was disappointed to discover her children buckled into the back seat, lined up like little sardines in a can. Great, will be browsing Oxford St. shops with three whiney, toilet-challenged tots. "Sorry about the kids, Bridget. Jeremy was going to watch them but he had already scheduled a squash game with friends."

Popped into trendy shops like Next and Monsoon with Magda's disastrously annoying kids in tow. Harry grabbing everything within his reach and baby Nicholas wailing at the top of his lungs because he's hungry every 5 minutes. Constance, being clingy as usual, seems to enjoy torturing self, her godmum, asking endless questions about EVERYTHING, as inquisitive, sponge-brained three year olds tend to do. Between answering inane questions about why carrots grow underground in the garden patch and not on trees and why does Spongebob Squarepants live in a pineapple under the sea, managed to find some fantastically sexy things for Mark—black moleskin jeans (Yum!), a blue striped shirt, and a handsome tweed jumper. Love shopping for fiancé as usually only men doing shopping for is Dad and Tom. Mustn't go home without getting sexy boxers too, a little treat for self as well. Maybe purple, so Mark can wear to Mum and Dad's wedding. Hmmm…can't wait til wedding night, even if not self's.

Was nice girl's afternoon out, but also wished Mark was there. Love being in fantasy stage of relationship again. Sent him a text message telling him that I missed him. He responded right away with similar message. Hmmm…love being in love.

"Bridget, are you listening? So, Shaz called me yesterday and said that you, Jude and she had gotten into an argument. What happened?"

"Magda, they are being completely ridiculous about my relationship with Mark! When he and I were having trouble and even after I chucked him, they were totally supportive and encouraged me to try and work it out." Everything just started spilling out. "And now, that we are together again, they can't stand the fact that I'm happy! It's like…they're jealous or something."

"Well, you're probably on to something there. Let's look at the facts: Jude has Richard, vile as he is, who is unreliable, rude, and completely ignores her unless he wants to shag…

"Mummy, what does shag mean?" Constance interrupted.

"Um…" Magda and I exchanged questioning glances. Three is probably too young to teach her about the birds and the bees.

"Constance, it means to play a game," I blurted, trying to help Magda out. She seemed satisfied with that and went back to hiding under the clothes racks.

"Anyway Bridge, Shaz has more or less the same problem. Simon is always around for a, uh…good game, but he also likes to play games with others, and she knows it. Neither one of them has what you would call a healthy relationship.

"Well, that still doesn't give them the right to begrudge my happiness." Shoved a piece of gum in mouth.

"Maybe not, but they still see Mark as a threat. He's not one of them. He's someone that has swept in on his white horse and is now prepared to give you the world on a silver platter. They think they're going to lose you Bridge."

"Oh." Was shocked. "How do you know all of this?"

"Shaz didn't say it in so many words, but she implied it. The same thing happened to me when I married Jeremy."

"And how did that turn out?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't see those friends anymore. Without intention, I did get wrapped up in Jeremy's upper-middle class world of champagne parties and lawyer's suppers. When I started to miss my old life, it was too late. My friends had moved on. That's when I met you, Tom, Jude, and Shaz and I felt whole again. I know that they still see me as somewhat of an outsider because I have kids, but I can deal with it because I wouldn't trade my children for anything in the world."

Felt sad for Magda…and Jude, Shaz, and Tom...and myself. Will I end up like Magda?

"Harry no! Do not make a stinky in your pants! Wait, mummy will take you to the toilet!" Magda pronounced loud enough that everyone in the shop turned to look at us. "Bridge, will you keep an eye on Constance and Nicholas while I take Harry to the toilet?"

Gah! Was stuck with a jabbering toddler and wailing infant. Gave Nicholas a bottle and he seemed to calm down, soon drifting off to sleep. V. cute when asleep. Meanwhile, Constance yammered on and on about whatever popped into her little head, now tethered to self with resemblance of an animal leash.

"Bridget? I'm bored. I want to shag." Two old ladies overheard Constance and gasped in horror, then looked at me as if I was the mother from the Black Lagoon. Was so embarrassed that I left the store without buying anything. Once in the street, she kept saying it, but louder and whinier. Nicholas was awake again and screaming. Kept spitting dummy out of his mouth and screeching louder. Gah! Will be a horrible mother for sure.

"Where is your mother?" Turned down Regent St. and headed for Hamley's. Maybe looking at toys will make her stop, but will not be allowed in unless Nicholas is quiet. Picked him up and began to bounce him vigorously. Soon realized problem, as put hand right in it and then noticed brown toxic-smelling streaks down front of top. Dear God, the child had literally exploded in his nappy and was leaking everywhere! Smell was positively putrid.

Managed to get Nicholas changed and back to sleep in pram. Needed nuclear waste dump to put nappy in, but found rubbish bin instead. Soon realized that Constance's leash was limp on arm…SHE WASN'T AT THE OTHER END! Fuuuuucccckkkk!

Searched all around, calling her name, and pleading with passersby to help me. Mobile ringing. Gah! Was Magda. Be cool Bridget. Mustn't let her know that self had lost her child. "Yes?"

"Sorry I'm taking so long. Harry didn't make it to the toilet, so we had to walk 3 blocks back to the carpark to get another pair of trousers."

"Uh, ok, no problem." Still searching, lugging heavy double pram and Christmas presents behind.

"Why don't you and the children meet us at McDonald's in 10 minutes."

"Right. 10 minutes." Oh God! Magda will definitely notice right away if I showed up with only one of her children. Dashed into Hamley's and ran like mad woman up and down aisles, knocking pram with screeching passenger into unexpecting ladies' bums like a pinball marble bouncing about. Took a corner too sharp, taking out Digimon display, but then heard cherub voice, "Do you wanna shag with me?" in the next aisle over.

Was abruptly asked to leave store and take _my_ children with me. "Constance, you mustn't talk to strangers and you mustn't wander away. Bridget was very worried about you. You want to play a game?" She shook her head excitedly. "Let's play a secret game. The rules are, we don't tell mummy what happened at the toy store. Ok?"

After lunch, picked up a few more things for Mark. Couldn't help myself. Then headed back to flat. Was v. anxious to get out of soiled top.

Mark was just pulling up to flat as we were. He stuck his head in the rear window to say hi to the kids while Magda and I grabbed bags from the boot. "Do you want to shag with me?" Constance asked him. He pulled his head out of the window and looked at us with the same horrified expression that I had seen numerous times already today.

"Constance, I told you…"

"But he is not a stranger, silly. He is your friend." She started to giggle. Oh my. Jeremy is going to kill me when he hears what I've taught his daughter. They drove away and Mark and I started to laugh.

"What's that awful smell?" Mark asked as we took the shopping bags into the bedroom.

"Oh sorry, it's my top." Told him about the horrendous baby explosion as well as the rest of today's rather unfortunate events.

Dashed into the shower and Mark left to pick up Indian takeaway. He and I had planned to finish trimming the Christmas tree this evening after dinner. Will be v. romantic.

**11:15pm **Enjoyed lovely dinner between kisses on the floor of the sitting room. Couldn't help but think about this morning's conversation though as I admired the way my engagement ring sparkled in the twinkle of the holiday lights. "If you keep staring at that ring, I'm going to think that you love it more than me," he teased.

"Not a chance." Long silence as I gathered courage. "Mark, how did you meet Loni?"

"Pardon?"

"Your ex-wife. How did you meet her? On our first night together you told me her name and that she and Daniel had an affair, but you never told me anything else." Not entirely sure was going to like what I heard., but in order to achieve total oneness with love of self's life, was necessary to know all gory details.

He took an extra long sip of wine as if was stalling. "Come here my love." He motioned for me sit on his lap. (stalling) Obliged his request, by straddling his legs and wrapping arms around his neck. We kissed passionately. (still stalling, but…Hmmm) "What's important is the two of us now, in this moment, and our future. You don't really want to know, do you?"

"Mark, I want to know everything about you. No secrets." Kissed his sexy cleft chin, sliding my tongue over the dimple.

"All right then." He took a deep breath. Why was this so difficult? Had she been a mail order bride? Prostitute? Brawny female wrestler? Circus freak? "Well, you see…she was…is a…uh…television news journalist." He could have just as easily taken a blowtorch and scorched my ears off. But _I_. Am. A. Bloody. Television. Journalist! Oh God! Am just next in line of succession. Could feel tears burning my eyes.

"Wot!" Tried to get up, but Mark squeezed my thighs against his.

"No Bridget! It's not what you think!

"Let go of me!" He released his grip in surrender. Got up and ran to the bedroom, slamming door behind.

"So you're not even going to listen? You don't even want to know what happened?" He shouted through the door. "You're being unbelievably unreasonable Bridget!"

"Go home Mark. I want to be alone. I need to think."

A few moments of eerie silence passed. Then heard an alarming clatter in the other room, followed by the door slamming. Walked out of the bedroom to find that Mark had toppled over the once beautiful Christmas tree reducing it to a pathetic pile of broken glass and tree branches all over the floor. Crumpled to the floor as well and sobbed uncontrollably.


	5. Chapter 5 Reconciliations

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter V

Reconciliations

_Weight: 8st 8 (holding steady); Cigarettes: 22 (Gah! Have fallen off wagon, v. stressed, therefore couldn't be avoided) Reconciliations: 2 _

**Sunday December 23**

**My flat 6:35am **"Where the fuck was he!" After crying self into stupor on lounge floor, tried to compose self enough to call Mark and apologize for being a paranoid neurotic mess, hell bent on destroying self's own happiness. Called his home and got answerphone. Then tried his mobile, which went straight to automated voicemail. Did not leave message on either. If he didn't go straight home, where did he go? He was v. angry when he left, as evidenced by broken tree in middle of room. Have never seen such destructive anger from him before. Scary. Maybe this is the real Mark coming out and it was his temper that actually drove cruel-raced ex-wife away. Perhaps not such a cruel race after all, but was victim of domestic abuse, fleeing to the arms of Daniel Cleaver for comfort.

**6:45am** Behaved irrationally yes, but perhaps for the best that self has found out just what sort of monster Mark Darcy really is before becoming next victim, where would eventually go missing and then naked body would be found weeks later washed ashore of the river.

**6:47am** Seemingly aloof, v. nice man, but is actually homicidal lunatic.

**6:48am **…or maybe he's bi-polar and forgot to take his meds. Poor dear.

**7:30am** The weather outside even has an ominous tone, as the temperature has dropped 20 degrees since yesterday, forecasted to be a white Christmas after all. The gloomy overcast day preventing diamond ring from sparkling as bright. Omen? V. sad indeed when even nature is against self.

Mark had said in his proposal something about my undying faith in him and less than 48 hours later I've chucked him out of my flat for having an ex-wife of similar…er, identical occupation to self. Would have been happier to find out she was a porn star than a sodding TV journalist. Unclear still if have chucked him out of life. What does it all mean really? Really want to have faith in him, but how can one expect to feel special if am actually just a rerun.

**8:50am** Ooo, great. Phone. Maybe Mark…

"Mark?"

"Mark? Darling, it's Mummy. Are you expecting Mark to phone? Oh do tell me that the two of you have patched things up!" sounding a bit too giddy, as if her relationship and not self's.

"No Mother. We are not back together." Looked at diamond ring sadly. Felt gigantic grapefruit-sized lump in throat.

"Well, that's what you get for not taking proper care of yourself and letting him have his way with you." That's mum speak for 'you're a fat-arsed whore, Bridget'.

"Thanks Mum, I'm sure that's it," I said wryly. "Why are you calling so early?"

"Darling, you never rang me back. Are you coming round before Christmas Day? Una and I are positively frazzled." Bollocks! Had completely forgotten about helping with sodding Christmas dinner. "Do you think you could pick up a few things from the market on your way up? Oh, and I'm putting you in charge of dessert." Great. Am called a fat arse by own mother who will later chastise self for even eating dessert.

"Uh…well." Might as well. No point in staying around here now with Mark...gone. "Ok Mum I'll throw some things into a holdall and be up sometime tomorrow morning. Bye." Ugh!

**9:30am **Tried to ring Mark again. Why doesn't he answer his phone? No answer at 9:15 on Sunday morning. Oh no! He must have left here last night so angry that was in terrible fiery car crash and is now either dead or lying in hospital bed with broken neck and is all my fault. Will definitely have to marry him now, as feel responsible for his paralysis and will need someone to take him to the toilet and feed him. Better watch news…and check the hospitals.

**9:55am** Called all hospitals in the area. No Mark Darcy. Thank goodness, but where the hell is he then? Should break his neck myself for worrying me so. Oh God! I've been chucked! That's it. He's ignoring me. He's angry and doesn't want to speak to me ever again. Am going to be pathetic old spinster with 50 cats.

**Coin's Café 4:30pm** Decided to stop by Coin's for usual chocolate croissant and latte. Need to gather strength if am going to grovel for forgiveness. Was surprised to see Jude and Shazzer sitting at a table near the back. Cautiously walked over to say hello, expecting a less than warm reception.

"Hi Bridget," Jude initiated. "Want to join us?" _Yea! __They don't hate me._ Sat down and began to make silly small talk about the weather and cost of petrol, avoiding anything to do with men, more specifically Mark Darcy. But then…

"So Bridge, how's Mark?" Shazzer asked strangely pleasant. Reeeaally didn't want to tell them what had happened, as will v. likely hear a big "I told you so." in unison. Had to tell them though if we are to ever clear the air between us. Was actually somewhat surprised by their reaction, as was sure they would both agree that Mark should be strung up by his toenails and stoned in the town square.

"So what's the story with the ex then?" Shaz asked, lighting a ciggie.

"Um, see that's the thing. I didn't give him a chance to explain. Told him I needed to think and asked him to leave." Lit a cigarette and watched as Jude and Shaz looked at each other and then at me disparagingly.

"Bridget Jones! And you're surprised by his reaction? Hello?"

"Well…"

"Lord girl, you'd fuck up your whole life for sure without us!" Was happy to hear that…sort of. "You've known that he was previously married since you met him, right?" Shook head. "Well, give him a little credit for telling you the truth then." What's this? They're taking _his_ side? Thinking maybe have mistakenly entered Twilight Zone instead of café.

"But she's a TV journalist like me!"

"So maybe Mark is a serial stalker of media stars. He marries them and then divorces them…obviously for their money," Shaz suggested.

"Oh, I know…maybe his pursuit of you has all been an elaborate, cleverly planned scheme to get closer to Loni, so that she will realize the err of her ways; he'll chuck you and reconcile with her," Jude added.

"Good thinking Jude! That must be it!" Shazzer and Jude clinked their glasses together and tossed back their contents.

"Right. So what you're saying is that I'm being ridiculous." They started to giggle.

"Listen Bridge, I think that it's probably just a huge coincidence…and besides that, you were still working at Pemberley when you met."

"So where is he now then?"

"Face it, he's pissed at you. He'll come back," Jude said glancing at Shaz rolling her eyes, "…he always does."

"So what's with the attitude change guys? Just yesterday you practically hung up on me Jude." Even without Mark, was feeling so much better now having Urban Family back.

"We talked about it…with Magda, and realized that it is unfair of us to be angry because you have Mark. Right Shaz?"

"Yeah…If he truly makes you happy, then we are happy for you."

"Really? Thanks guys! You're the greatest friends a soon-to-be-(hopefully)-Nonsmug-Married could ever have." Shared a giant group hug. Must remember to give Magda an extra-giant hug.

"So let's see that ring…"

**Later that evening **Still no sign of Mark. After Urban Family reunion, dashed over to his house and let self in. Wanted to cry desperately, not knowing if something terrible had happened to him (other than meeting me in the first place) or was just simply avoiding self. Wondered if should just leave the ring and his key so that he wouldn't have to see me again if he didn't want to. Answerphone was not blinking, so he has at least gotten his messages. That means he's heard my apologies, but still doesn't want to speak to me. Even worse. Decided to write him a note, explaining once again how sorry I am for overreacting. But wait, will seem like am a stalker. Buggggeeeerrrr!

Still thinking about Mark, fought back more tears while shopping for ingredients for fruity jelly mold, mince and apple pies. Mark loves apple pie. Mother adamantly insisted that I not get ready-made pies. Every year can hear Mum's parrot-like voice in head saying, "Jones family Christmas dinners have to be made completely from scratch." Just my luck. Definitely need a few drinks to calm nerves.

**Monday December 24**

**9:00am **Woke up with knots in stomach and pounding head. Do not want to spend the next few days surrounded by people who will serve little more purpose than to unintentionally make self feel worse than already feel.

Gah! Bus for Grafton-Underwood leaving in 25 minutes. Ugh! Head feels like lead and teeth have grown fur during the night.

**10:00am **Just barely made the train with self, holdall, and four sacks of food intact. Head still throbbing. Took engagement ring off and strung it onto chain with floating heart and replaced it back around neck. Wonder what Mark is doing? Miss him terribly.

**11:30pm **Though twenty-five or so guests are expected for Christmas dinner, many will not be arriving until tomorrow morning, including Jamie and his stick insect of the month. Can't believe I share the same bloodline with a Daniel Cleaveresque man-whore. Dad says he's young, still getting over his divorce, and will outgrow it. He's 35. Not holding out much hope there. Seems to enjoy his newfound freedom too much.

Was summoned to the kitchen where Mother and Auntie Una donning frilly aprons were already waist-deep in veggie chopping, turkey thawing, and potato peeling.

Was now tied into own silly apron. "Bridget darling, you should get started with the desserts." And so went the afternoon, dutifully chopping fruit for the cranberry jelly mold, and apples for the pie. Mixed and kneaded the dough for mince and apple pastry base and lids superbly. Only got tangled into sticky dough once when was distracted by announcement that the Darcys would be joining us tomorrow. They'll be bringing their son Peter, Mark's older brother, and his wife, Mum said. Don't think have ever met Peter, but has probably seen me naked in the paddling pool. Hope he doesn't remember.

Despite the startling news, was feeling triumphant enough to volunteer to prepare the traditional Christmas pudding.. Mixed flour, fruit, sugar, brandy, and nuts. Ha! Anyone, even I, can follow a recipe. Mmmm, will be v. tasty. V. proud of self. And if Mark comes with his family tomorrow, he will be v. proud of me too. Am master baker!

Cleanup was well underway when the doorbell rang. "Oh, who could that be? None of our guests are due until tomorrow," Mum trilled excitedly as she hurried toward the door.

Oh God! Was Mark. "Happy Christmas Mark. How nice of you to come round dear. Have your parents and Peter come as well?" Mum chirped.

"Mrs. Jones, is Bridget here? May I speak to her please?" he asked urgently ignoring her greeting and sounding serious and a bit out of breath. Did he run here? Turned his attention from Mum when he saw me standing in the kitchen doorway. "Bridget."

"What are you doing here?" My heart was pounding thunderously…hands tingling. He looked tired and distraught, but handsome as always. Oh no! Something awful _had_ happened to him. Dashed across room and touched his chest.

He glanced around at the silent staring faces. "Could we maybe go somewhere and speak privately?"

Where were we going to go with the nosiest people in England, otherwise known as the Jones and Alconbury families, standing at the ready to put a glass up to the door to listen to anything that might be potentially gossip-worthy?

Grabbed my coat and we stepped out into the front garden. "Bridget, I've just been in misery without you." He then took my hand and brought it to his cheek, but quickly realized that I wasn't wearing his ring. "Oh God, you really have chucked me again, haven't you?" He released my hand.

Reached for chain to show him but felt nothing there. Oh God! My necklace and engagement ring are gone! Oh shit! Where the hell is it? Certainly didn't want to tell him that had been irresponsible and lost the undoubtedly v. expensive ring. He blinked several times looking confused. "Bridget? Are you listening?"

"I thought _you_ had chucked _me_. You destroyed the Christmas tree, then I didn't hear from you for two days and you didn't return any of my calls! What was I supposed to think?"

"I'm so sorry." He shook his head looking at the ground then rubbed his eyes, as if wrestling with some sort of inner demon. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Ran my hand over his stubbled cheek. "Mark, honey, I was the one who behaved like a bollocking dimwit…as usual."

"We are so perfect for each other, you know. We are both such huge pains in the arse." We both laughed and then shared an intimate hug. "Can we go somewhere and be…" He looked over at the faces pressed up to the glass picture window, "…alone. I just want to be with you right now…no one else."

"Yes. V. good."

He opened the car door for me and I turned back to wave to the onlookers at the window. Once in the car, Mark caught me off guard by kissing me hard on the mouth causing me to loose my breath. "Bridget, let's get married."

"Now haven't we been through this twice already? I still want to marry you, silly."

"No, I mean today…right now."

Was stunned. "Now? Why?" Couldn't believe had just said that considering how long had been waiting.

"Well, for starters, with you staying with your parents, it's the only way I'm going to be able to sleep with you tonight." Nuzzled my neck then flashed a smile.

"Mark Darcy! Is that the only reason!"

"Of course not. Bridge, I'm madly in love with you and I can't wait to be your husband."


	6. Chapter 6 Alien Seduction

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason **

Chapter VI

Alien Seduction

Weight: 8st 10; Cigarettes: 0 (due to fantastic honeymoon-like abduction); Martian encounters: 1

**Tuesday December 25 Christmas Day**

**1:30am **Mark was just being a Martian! Yes, that's it. Here I was obsessing over losing him, when actually he was just exhibiting typical male alien behavior. How silly to forget Mars and Venus at such a crucial time in self's life. While I panicked for two days, feeling as if had been chucked, he must have retreated into isolation to lick his wounds and solve his problems (how to deal with neurotic fiancé). Must have secret cave in manner of Batman, as was obviously not at his actual home. V. fitting, as Mark Darcy is definitely my superhero.

His exhilarating, but no less puzzling sudden need for intimacy and carnal reconnection led us to a small, roadside b&b several kilometres outside of Grafton-Underwood after a mad search in three corner shops and two petrol stations along the way to finally locate packet of condoms, as had to confess to Mark that had missed two days of birth control pills. In his absence had felt unworthy of sexual pleasure, so what was the point of taking the pill anyway. Then found it almost impossible on the eve of Christmas to find a vacancy at a "respectable" b&b. Was beginning to think might have to tear one off in backseat of Mark's Mercedes like two naughty teenagers hiding out from parents. But then again…hmmm.

Eventually…hurried into the lobby hand in hand. He kissed my temple and I stretched my arms around his waist as we waited for the receptionist to finish a phone call. "Excuse me," Mark interrupted, growing annoyed. "My wife and I just got married and we would like a room." Was completely turned on by his deceptive eagerness. 

"Name please?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Mark and Bridget Darcy," he announced proudly, gazing down into my eyes. Hmmm…Love the sound of that.

"Will you be staying the night?" she asked with a smirk. Gah! She's implying that am possibly a prostitute. Looked at self in blue jeans, red jumper, and sneakers. Certainly didn't look like trollop, but not much like a new bride either, especially with diamond ring missing. Gah! What happened to it?

"Yes, if that's ok with you darling," Mark answered, looking at me again, seemingly unaffected by any false conclusions she may be drawing. The receptionist grinned wide. Was it that obvious that we were just there to have sex?

"Well then, here is your key, sir. Cottage 10, in the back. Just leave the key in the drop box when you're…uh-um, ready to leave." Gah! I. Am. Not. A. Whore!

Walked through the door of cute little cottage and was admiring quaint country ambiance when felt Mark's strong hands on my hips from behind, then his sensuous lips grazing lightly over the back of my neck. Hmmm… Instinctively moved head to the side so he could cover more ground. Circled around, his lips never leaving my neck, to stand facing me. "I love you Bridget," he whispered into my ear, and then continued his trail of kisses until he reached my lips. When our mouths finally parted, I was breathless and yearning for more of the sweet taste of him. He removed my top and began to rub and kiss my bare shoulders tenderly. It was all so slow and methodical, thought I was going to melt into the floor. Couldn't help but to shiver, as I stood topless in the chilly room. Mark sensed my discomfort and immediately stopped his romantic seduction, wrapped a quilt from a nearby chair around my shoulders, and proceeded to build a fire in the small fireplace. When I joined him by the newly blazing fire, I had removed my jeans and was now wearing only bra and tights. Brushed my lips against his neck and then slowly began to unbutton his shirt, kissing his strong, masculine chest and stomach with every newly revealed inch of flesh. Slid the shirt off of his smooth, broad shoulders, running my fingertips down the entire length of his long arms. Could feel the hairs stand on end even though was standing right next to the fire. Brought my lips to his chest again, teasing his nipples with my tongue while unbuckling his trousers to reveal his more than ample erection piercing the fabric of his knickers. Hmmm… Lightly grazed a finger along the length of his manhood, teasing him a bit. A low, guttural moan escaped his throat.

"Are you trying to drive my mad?"

"Is it working?" I countered lustfully.

He brought his hands to my face and kissed me forcefully, his bristly, unshaven face irritating my skin a bit. Wrapped my legs around his waist and let him carry me to bed. He laid me gently on the bed then backed off to remove my tights, unfortunately not an easy task without turning them completely inside out. Was v. embarrassed now left lying wanton and nearly naked feeling like a squishy yeti in large knickers. Gah! Was not expecting to be ravished today or would have worn seductive undergarments and shaved legs and underarms at least once since last Thursday. Mark never cares about that anyway, as is more interested in self as a person and not what am wearing. Though does seem to quite enjoy when am _not_ wearing anything, even if on rare occasion am similar to a zoo primate. Naughty, naughty man…Hmmm…His sexual appetite was positively insatiable tonight. Must have really missed me. Love deliciously horny man.

His warm, sensual body slid slowly over mine and we stared deep into each other's eyes while he made mad love to me, clutching the sheets tightly and arching my back…his whole body seemed to be entering my soul.

Being with Mark was always like the first time we made love that snowy night just a few days shy of one year ago. On the surface, especially in public, seemingly aloof, staid, and unemotional, but privately…hmmm, so tender, sweet, and completely irresistible. Feel so safe when nestled in his arms.

"Well, even if you wouldn't let me marry you tonight, at least I get to sleep with you," he whispered, as we laid curled in each other's arms under a heavy down quilt, both exhausted from shagging.

"I quite enjoyed the part of our little charade when you called me Mrs. Darcy. Has a nice sound to it, don't you think?" Kissed his neck and tousled his hair. "Do you think the receptionist believed us?"

"Well if she didn't, then I'm quite sure she thinks I must have paid top quid for someone as lovely as you." Stroked my cheek lightly and smiled naughtily.

Propped self up on elbows and looked down at lovely naked man quizzically, "If I were a whore, how much would I be worth to you?" Mark began to laugh, then pulled me down on top of him.

"Bridget, you are priceless." We disappeared under the covers, tickling, kissing, and wrestling about and then…hmmm. Oh, Mr. Darcy…v.v. naughty boy.

Later, "Mark, are you surprised that I don't want to get married yet?"

"I must admit I was a bit shocked, yes, considering that you wanted me to propose to you after two months of dating." Couldn't help but blush in embarrassment.

"You knew that, did you?"

Propped himself up and smirked, "Bridge, I may be a Martian, but I'm not an idiot."

"Mark Darcy! How do you know about Martians?" Smacked him playfully on the bum.

"Well, when you left me the first time, I had to keep myself busy somehow?"

"As I seem to recall, Rebecca Gillis was occupying your time just fine." Rolled over, turning my body sullenly from him.

Silence for a moment. "That was a mistake. I'm sorry," his voice barely audible and remorseful. I turned back to him and we kissed tenderly.

**8:30am **While Mark was in the loo, decided it best to call Mum and Dad so as to avoid embarrassment of having fiancé arrested for kidnapping. Had left mobile, along with all other personal belongings, at the house so fished Mark's from his trouser pocket. As expected, Mum began a scathing lecture about propriety. V. hypocritical considering some of her more recent past indiscretions. Would there even be a need for vow renewal if Mum hadn't behaved so impulsively improper herself over the past two years? Told her Mark and I would be round in a few hours and not to worry. Right.

Just as was replacing phone, it began to ring. "Mark Darcy's phone." The line went dead. Call log indicated "Unlisted" but recognized the number as belonging to ex-friend.

"Mark?" He stepped out of the loo. "Why is Rebecca Gillis calling you?


	7. Chapter 7 Jones vs Darcy

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter VII

Jones vs. Darcy

Weight: 13st (feels like am in heifer like state compared to all other females on planet); Cigarettes: 200 (I wish!); Jealous thoughts about Rebecca, Loni, girl at Wimbley…lost count; Hateful future brothers-in-law: 1; Thoughts of disowning family:1,683 (probably);

Tuesday December 25 

**8:50am **Well done Bridget…Managed to have normal conversation with Mark about evil Rebecca Gillis without irrationalizing situation too much, because realize that will have a nervous breakdown if self obsesses every time a stick insect looks at or speaks to gorgeous, sexy fiancé. Will continue to remind self that am self-confident and worthy of Mark's love. But still…why did he look so horrified when I asked him why she was calling his mobile at 8:15 a.m. on a holiday? V. curious. Why doesn't she just fall off a cliff already!

**11:30am B & B Dining room **There was also the issue of Loni, Mark's Japanese ex-wife. Tried v. hard to sit quietly over a lovely breakfast of eggs, sausage, and scones and just listen with an open mind and without interrupting or becoming dissolved in insecurities, as he explained that he had met her while she was interning at NHK (Japanese broadcasting company) and he was in Tokyo on a foreign office case. A colleague had introduced us at a dinner party, he said. Wonder which evil, inconsiderate colleague it was. Will definitely have to cross that person off Christmas card list. Mark went on to explain that during the six weeks that he had spent in Tokyo, he and Loni had grown quite close. Gah! LaLaLaLa I can't hear you! Didn't have any desire to hear any more about that...would like to retain fantasy that he has never had sex with anyone but me and is just naturally skilled in that area…oh, but there was evil, boyfriend pinching Rebecca, wasn't there. Bugger!….. When the case was settled and it was time for him to return to London, she had finished her internship as well and decided to move to London to seek employment with the BBC and to LIVE WITH Mark. Gaaaaahhhh! Turns out that they had lived together for almost a 10 months before they got married. Wow! The Darcys must have been outraged, being the upstanding society people that they are. Youngest Darcy living in sin. Shameful! How had this never come up in conversation before now?

Was feeling like had been stung and left for dead by 1,000 poisonous jellyfish all at once. Was breathing heavily and rubbing chest as if monster was about to burst forth like in the movie Alien. REALLY need a cigarette. Was still trying not to interrupt…but was v. difficult.

"Bridget darling, are you ok?" he asked, presumably because must have looked like was going to be sick all over the table. He rubbed my arm and then my cheek. "Do you need to lie down?"

"No, I'll be fine." Mark gestured to the waiter to bring me some water_…please splash some vodka into that glass while you're at it kind sir_. "Go on."

"There's nothing more to tell…We eventually got married in a rather elaborate ceremony in Westminster Chapel, which was much more my mother's and Loni's affair than mine."

"Westminster? You got married in a cathedral?" Oh God, was feeling nauseous.

"No Bridge, the Chapel. It's much smaller….the cathedral was already booked." He winked playfully with a chuckle. Did not smile back.

"So did she speak English when you met her?" Had sudden vision of Mark and exotic Eastern stick insect shagging like rabbits in spring as only form of communication. Ahhhh! Wonder if self could actually die from repeated self-inflicted, imaginary jellyfish stings…

"Yes, very good English in fact. Japanese journalism students are required to learn English as well." Silence for a few moments while trying to swallow all of the events of Mark's past. "Well?…I know you're dying to ask…"

"Hmmm?"

"How did she get mixed up with Daniel Cleaver." Looked at lap, embarrassed that had ever been involved with Daniel myself and was unable to look at him as he spoke. "After returning from a brief honeymoon, we were at a cocktail party thrown by some author…don't remember his name or the book, but it was published by Pemberley. Anyway, Loni was invited to interview him and Cleaver, who was still a mate at the time, was there as well representing the publishers. I introduced the two. The rest is a miserable blur. I have no idea what I did wrong… Just goes to show, you never can tell who you can really trust." His voice trailed off and his mind seemed to go somewhere else for a moment. Suspect that by telling me all of this, old wounds may have reopened a bit. Felt a twinge of guilt for making him emotionally relive it.

Not caring what people at nearby tables thought, I sat on his lap and held him tightly. "She didn't deserve you. I'm so sorry she hurt you sweetheart."

"I wallowed in pointless self-pity for a long time, but I'm not sorry anymore. I would have missed out on the best thing that has ever happened to me if she had been faithful." We continued to hold each other for quite awhile lost in our own thoughts of what the future would bring.

We went back to our room to freshen up, as best one could anyway still wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes. Thankfully was at least able to buy a toothbrush and hairbrush from the gift shop. Will surely be embarrassing though to walk into parent's house in yesterday's outfit. Maybe can somehow climb trellis to bedroom window, change, and then walk downstairs nonchalantly as if had been there all along.

"Bridge do we have to go?" Mark whined playfully into my ear, coming into the loo. Began to kiss neck and ears.

"Mark, we have to. Your whole family will be there and I am expected to finish the sodding dessert." Tried to squirm away from his grasp, which he took as being a game and so continued, more determined now, to persuade me to forego the family obligations.

"Let's just stay in this room all day and unwrap each other for Christmas." Hmmm…Tempting.

"Mark Darcy! What is wrong with you? You've never been so…" Must work on will power. Soon found self back in bed being shagged senseless. Gah! Mark's mobile rang as v. crucial moment was rapidly approaching. He handed it to me, as he was too busy to speak. But not like self was just lying there making out mental grocery list, patiently waiting for him to roll off. Great.

"Uh…hmm…hhhello?"

"Bridget Jones! Get back here right this instance! How dare you be so irresponsible," Mum scolded.

"We're coming Mother…we're coming…" Hung up.

**1:15pm Mum and Dad's house **The day spent in Grafton-Underwood seemed more like retribution for every sin have ever committed throughout entire life than lovely family gathering. Although all was back on track with Mark and will soon be wife of top human rights barrister and not just sexual plaything, soon found that my jubilation was not shared by all.

As if was standing at the window watching for the instant that the car pulled into the drive, Mum blustered out into the snow without coat and dragged me by the arm into the house in manner of small, disobedient child being marched to her room to "think about" what she had done, shooting Mark a dirty look as she did. Glanced back to see him walking slowly toward the house, head down, shaking his head, undoubtedly wishing to be anywhere but where we were.

Unfortunately the house was already filled with guests, including Admiral and Mrs. Darcy, Mark's older brother Peter and his wife, Anastasia Ellsworth-Darcy and infant son, Stephan. And there I was standing in yesterday's outfit with my hair looking like an abstract art sculpture, having just been pathetically manhandled into the house. Mark shuffled in after us still unshaven and tousled looking.

At first the room was silent as they all stared, then the whispering started. Not as unusual for me to look like a street urchin, or a bit more expected anyway, but must admit that Mark was looking uncharacteristically out of sorts and a bit grizzly with five days growth on his chin.

Elaine Darcy was the first to react by coming to Mark's side and pushing a stray curl from his brow, touching his furry cheek, and smoothing his shirt. "You poor dear. Are you well, Son?…I brought you something to wear." He glanced at his brother's jumper.

"Yes Mother. I am very well. Thank you," he answered stoically taking the package.

Then "Uncle" Geoffrey starts in, "Well, well, young Mr. Darcy. I see you've returned our little Bridget still in one piece. Off playing a bit of house, hmm? Wink. Wink." Vulgar bastard!

Mark was about to respond but I interrupted. "You do realize that I am 35 years old and perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much! What we do or don't do is none of your concern _Uncle_ Geoffrey! I don't ever ask you why you like to hang round with young boys in London do I!" Geoffrey flashed his usual dopey expression. The Darcys all gasped in unison.

"What does she mean by that Geoffrey?" Una queried.

"Bridget Jones! How dare you be so rude! Now go upstairs and put something decent on. You look like you've been asleep in a ditch," Mum hissed.

"Bugger off Mother!" Stormed up the stairs to change, leaving poor Mark downstairs with the piranhas. Great. Had been home for five minutes and had already alienated self from two, maybe three "family" members on top of making a total ass of self in front of Mark's smug family. Opened the bedroom window and then tore into holdall and retrieved a packet of cigarettes. How lovely it would have been to find a surprise bottle of Chardonnay hiding in the bottom of bag, but alas no such luck.

Mark entered the room a few moments later holding his attaché case from the car. Made no attempt to hide what was now my fourth cigarette. Was expecting to be comforted by lovely secret fiancé but was instead berated.

"Why did you act so juvenile? All you had to do was ignore the comments and they would have stopped. You completely overreacted!" Mark began to pace, not looking at me. "I didn't want my mother fusing with my hair and speaking to me as if I was a five years old either, but I wasn't about to embarrass her by pushing her away and knocking her to the floor. You have to learn to not express every thought or emotion you have at the moment you have it!"

"Oh, I have to learn that do I?" I seethed.

"Well…yes, apparently you do. You not only embarrassed yourself, but me as well. It was already bad enough that we both showed up today looking like sodding vagrants…Surely my brother and his family now thinks you are a lunatic. And I can't say that I would blame them." He began to pace faster and rake his hands over his already tragically disheveled hair. "Great. This is just fucking great!" Was taken aback that Mark cursed. He never does unless really angry, like the time had accidentally thrown his portfolio filled with important client papers into the Trafalgar Square fountain. So I knew I had definitely gone too far. Hope he doesn't want to cancel engagement announcement because am too embarrassing to be proper wife. He stalked into the adjoining loo, removed his shirt, and began to trim his beard.

"Mark, I'm sorry…" Put my hands on his soft, smooth back and then began to rub his shoulders. He made no attempt to reciprocate my affection and kept trimming. "Like Boy George says in Karma Chameleon, 'you're my lover, not my rival'…Let's not fight Sweetheart." Kissed him between the shoulder blades, as was all could reach, and stretched my arms around his waist, then moved hands up to his chest.. Could feel his body tremor, which meant that he was either crying or laughing.

"How is it that I can be madder than a hornet at you, and you quote Culture Club to me? You are too much, you know that?"

"You know who Culture Club is?"

"Of course I do. Why do you always assume that I must have lived under a rock before I met you? Life begins upon meeting Bridget Jones. Is that it? Actually…I saw them at Live Aid. Boy George was in a heroin-induced frenzy with strange looking paste all over his face. "

"You went to Wembley or watched it on the telly?" Always feel so prideful when find out that Mark is just a bit more normal than had once believed.

"I went with a girlfriend." Oh. Stuck bottom lip out playfully.

"Bridget, for God sake that was twenty years ago! You can't be serious?"

Flashed him a smile and a wink. "Well, you had seen me wet and naked by then. You weren't pining for me?"

"I can honestly say that I prefer you wet and naked at 35 much more than at 4." We both laughed. He slid his hand down my back and over my bum.

"Seriously though, I'll be on my best behavior for the rest of the day and say whatever I need to say to make amends. I promise. Hmm…Maybe I can tell them that I'm premenstrual."

Mark shook his head. "Do you really want our families conjuring that image?" He kissed me sweetly and then began to lather up is face with shaving cream. Went back into bedroom to change. Am going to be charming and thoughtful with all of the guests. No matter what mother or anyone else might say or do. Ooo…better have one more cigarette.

A few minutes later I came back into the loo. He was still shaving. "So when do we tell them?"

"How about after supper," he answered with a sigh. We both knew that there would be much more fanfare than either of us wanted, mostly from my rather unfortunate family unit.

**10:45pm **As soon as was back downstairs, made my apologies to the guests and Mum by saying was still upset by a nasty motorway pile-up that we had seen on the way back. Had put me in a v. foul mood, I added. Hopefully was convincing.

Was quickly ushered into the kitchen where my pies from yesterday were lined up on the counter awaiting attention. Mum asked me to whip up three more Christmas puddings so that there would be plenty for everyone. Feeling v. confident with baking skills, began to recreate recipe from memory and then tripled it. Hope there is enough brandy for all of the puddings. No problem. Am brilliant in the kitchen. All self needed was renewed confidence. Poured a celebratory glass of wine and toasted self over culinary triumph.

Heard Mark's voice and hurried back into the lounge where he was standing with his brother and father. He had come back downstairs no longer resembling a scruffy mountaineer, but as the gorgeous metro-sexual man that I first fell in love with…clean shaven, dark brown wavy hair combed back away from his face and impeccably dressed. He can make even a thoughtful, yet tragically misguided outfit look good, this year's holly-trimmed bell jumper was no exception.

Couldn't help myself. Skipped over playfully and tried to kiss him, but he reacted rather coldly, giving me only a half-hearted hug. Was he still angry after all? Searched his deep, penetrating eyes with confusion and detected a yearning but his physical reaction contradicted his eyes.

Anastasia, Peter's beautiful, stickly wife, sauntered over and asked her husband if she could pour him a glass of wine. He nodded and she left subserviently to retrieve his drink. "Uh…Mark sweetheart, would you like me to get you anything?…Admiral?" I asked, not wanting to be outdone by snooty Mrs. Ellsworth-Darcy.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you." The admiral swished the glass of scotch that was already in his hand, still half full. Was getting the impression had intruded on a Darcy male bonding session so excused self back to pudding. Looked back at Mark who was watching me walk away and smiling ever so slightly. Peter was also watching me, but with v. different expression.

Upon returning to the kitchen, Mum and Una were scurrying around like mice with their tails on fire. Elaine Darcy was busily polishing the silver, probably having been banned from food preparation by the head hens of the coop. Just as well, Elaine has probably never held a turkey baster in her entire life. Why bother when you can hire someone to do it for you. "Oh Bridget, I almost forgot," Mum began, reaching for something. "Una found this in the garbage disposal last night." She handed me the chain and floating heart pendant that had been lost, now broken and mangled. "The only reason we found it was because it had gotten wrapped around the motor."

"Was there anything else?" Starting to panic.

"No dear. How on earth did it fall off of your neck anyway?"

Started to cry. Ran from kitchen, past the guests in the lounge and up the stairs into my bedroom. Threw self onto bed and began to cry into the pillow. "What's wrong?" Mark asked frightfully, bounding up the stairs after me. Opened fist clutching broken heart and chain. "We can get you a new one. Don't worry," He tried to reassure me while rubbing my back.

"You don't understand…the ring was on the chain also…now it's in the sewer." Was sobbing uncontrollably now like a child. "It's an omen!…You and I are doomed!…I can't do anything right!…I'm rubbish at everything!"

"Of course you're not. And we are most certainly not doomed. Something a lot worse than losing a silly piece of jewelry will have to happen to keep us from getting married. You're not getting rid of me that easily young lady. Now come here…" He held out his hands and I crawled up to his chest and into his arms. Hmmm… We began to kiss passionately and eventually, out of habit we began to undress each other. Just then, Dad entered the room, sent by Mum to retrieve me. Oddly enough, was more relieved to be caught half naked by Dad than Mum. At least won't get a lecture about decency from him afterward.

"Oh…sorry" Dad began, not sure where to divert his eyes. "Just wanted to make sure that you are ok…and I…er, assume that you are…uh, you really should close the door when you…uh…and also to tell you that Jamie and Gillian are here. Just thought you might like to know. Bye now." He left the room as if inspecting for leaks in the ceiling. Not sure which man was more embarrassed, Dad or Mark.

Jamie was his usual impish, jovial, early mid-life crisis ridden self. His latest of a steady flow of stick insects, Gillian, was his date for this month's family gathering. "Nice ass in that skirt Sis." He greeted me with a squeeze. Is he pissed already? Fantastic. This day just keeps getting better.

Let's see now…so far I've embarrassed myself and Mark in front of his conceited brother and his equally as stuck-up, drone of a wife, lost engagement ring in the sewer, been seen naked by my father, and now have been groped by my own brother, probably prompting rumors throughout the guests that the Jones family are not only dysfunctional but incestuous as well.

Decided to do a bit of mingling since pies and pudding were baking safely in the oven. Dad and Malcolm Darcy were huddled with their usual cronies around the wet bar drinking themselves into a stupor and will likely be howling at the moon by night's end. Jamie was shamelessly flirting with the 19-year old daughter of one of Mum's book club friends while his own scantily clad whippersnapper was in the loo. Poured self another glass of wine and struck up a conversation with a group of total strangers in an effort to avoid having to converse with Peter Darcy. He doesn't seem friendly at all. Moments later though, Mark asked me to join them.

For brief moment Mark seemed v. pleased with how his brother had taken a cordial interest in me, until... "So did you go to University Bridget?" Ah, doesn't think I am educated. Great. Jellyfisher alert!

"Yes. I went to Bangor." Smiled at Peter, then at Mark.

"Ah, yes Bangor, University of Wales. They will accept pretty much anyone there, I hear. Lower entry standards you know." Smiled pleasantly allowing second jellyfish to swim past. So now is implying that am stupid. Brilliant. Yes Mark, please just stand there and act like you don't know what's going on. Then, Peter asked about my career as a journalist, starting out at Pemberley and then at Sit Up Britain. Mark finally spoke up and proudly told him how I am v. popular because of my human-interest stories. Peter did a lot of nodding and "I see-ing.", which really means 'I'd much rather talk about myself now'. So then I asked him about his law practice to which he perked up to explain that he and Mark had attended Cambridge at the same time for a few years, though obviously he was a few years ahead. Unlike Mark, he had chosen corporate law and was now living and practicing in Hong Kong. Seemed a bit too proud of himself and excited by the sound of his own voice. He then had the audacity to ask if I knew where Hong Kong was. Mark seemed to hold his breath until I said with fake nonchalance that it is of course in China. Actually, had been sure to ask dad yesterday after hearing that Peter was coming, just to make sure. Was even ready to tell him nearby seas if was like Daniel Cleaver and smug enough to ask. Then he started talking, rather bragging, that he lives in one of the tallest skyscrapers in Asia, that his wife is a well-respected social planner, and that he speaks fluent Cantonese and is already teaching his 7- month old son, Stephan to understand it. Whoopee-do. This man is almost as boring as watching grass grow. He had no great use for me either, I could tell.

When Mark left to talk with his mum for a bit, that's when all hell broke loose. Dr. Jekyll had suddenly become Mr. Hyde.

"So just what exactly do you hope to get out of this so-called farce of a relationship with my brother, Ms. Jones?" My jaw dropped. Staring directly at me were the same hypnotic, piercing eyes as Mark. Was v. eerie.

"Why whatever do you mean Peter Darcy?" Wasn't sure what to call him. Mr. Darcy seemed too formal and would likely imply that I think him superior to self, and Peter seemed too personal and familiar, and it was certainly becoming crashingly obvious that he was no friend of mine.

"I think you know exactly what I mean, unless you are even less intelligent than I've given you credit for," he accused. "Are you after money, status,…what?" Whoa! He was holding nothing back.

Just then Mark returned. Thank God. Wished I could take back every rude thing had ever said or written about Mark when I first met him. He was an absolute pussycat compared to his idiotic, pompous brother. Unlike in Mark's case, this was more than just a lousy first impression, Peter Darcy was determined to get rid of me. Excused self with a glass of wine out into the back garden for a cigarette and some fresh air.


	8. Chapter 8 Bad Is Good

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter VIII

Bad Is Good

_Engagement rings found: 1; Alcohol units consumed: Too many or not enough (depending on how you look at it); Self-Help Philosophies revisited: 1; Thoughts of disowning family: Numerous, but less than expected_

**Tuesday, December 25**

**10:45pm (cont.) **Dinner just added insult…upon insult to injury in an already dreadful situation. Mark and I sat next to each other, as did all the other couples in the room except Mum and Dad, who in playing some sort of flirtatiously coy game with each other just days before their remarriage were chasing each other around trying to pinch each other's bums before finally settling at opposite ends of the table. Lovely and encouraging when love can endure into golden years, but do wish they would practice a modicum of discretion while in the presence of such people as heinous Peter Darcy, whose own parents, by the looks of them, likely haven't had a good shag in decades. Will not let that happen to Mark and me!

Due to the large number of people at the table there were usually several conversations going at once, which was v.g. considering roast turkey dinner more closely resembled roast Bridget dinner.

"So Mark, did you have to take a diversion to get here today?" Peter asked with curious arrogance. Everyone seated at our end of the table, including the Darcys, Mum, Jamie, and Una, looked at him strangely. What an odd question.

"Excuse me?"

"Because of the motorway pile-up?" Peter pressed on.

"What are you talking about?" Mark shook his head at his brother. Bugger! Peter had purposely and publicly caught me in a lie and was now glaring a hole through me. Note to self: Never tell lies to family without coordinating with Mark first…or teach him the power of thought vibes.

"Bridget said that she had been rude this morning because she was upset about seeing a bad car crash on the motorway. I guess maybe you just didn't notice the terrible pile-up. Perhaps you should look into getting your eyes checked dear brother." He stuffed a forkful of turkey into his mouth continuing to glare at me. Mark looked at me and smiled a crooked smirk. Remain calm, cool, and collected, reminded self. Poured self another glass of wine.

Will not embarrass Mark or self by making rude comment to Peter Darcy…I promised.

"That reminds me Bridget," Mother cut in, completely oblivious to the fact that her daughter had just been called a liar by a virtual stranger. "Why on earth were you so out of breath when you answered Mark's phone this morning? I thought you said you and he were just spending quiet time together in order to work some things out, not running a marathon." At that moment, all side conversations had ceased and all eyes were upon me…again. Awkward silence. Then my fool brother says, "Sounds like _you_ had quite a work out. Well done Sis…Mark!" Thought he might try to high five me or something over the roast turkey. Mark's mum's face went white as a sheet and Peter glowered at me condescendingly, while a few others stifled a giggle. Wished could just quietly slip under the table. "What ever do you mean, Jamie?" Stupid mother. She brought it up and is the only one who didn't get it. Mark concentrated on trapping peas with his fork, not looking up or uttering a sound other than to sigh heavily.

Will not embarrass Mark or self by making rude comment to idiotic family…I promised.

"There. That must have been the problem!" Peter jumped back in. "Our little Bridget…", using Geoffrey's words, "…was upset because she hadn't had enough sex this morning."

Gahhh! Really need to make rude comment to Peter Darcy that might embarrass Mark or self. I hate him!

Mum's face contorted into something resembling Edvard Munch's Scream painting as she stared at me disdainfully. "Bridget! Why I…I…just…"

"That's quite enough Peter Darcy!" Both Dad and Malcolm Darcy unsteadily jumped to their feet, both pissed, but cognizant enough to defend me…but not Mark. He continued to stare despondently at his plate. Christ! Has he suddenly become a deaf mute? Finished off glass of wine and poured another.

"My sincere apologies Mr. and Mrs. Jones…Ms. Jones. You are absolutely right. I was out of line." Peter went back to quietly eating. Hoped he'd choke on the fork, but that would be a terrible waste of Mother's good silver. Arrogant arse! Hate him!

When it was time for dessert, I proudly served with Elaine Darcy's help. Fantasized about how Darcy family dinners would be 10 years from now in our cozy country home: Mother Darcy (as I will call her) and I cooking and baking, Mark carving the turkey and helping me serve. Of course, if he wants to help prepare the meal, as I know he will, that will be fantastic. And of course our two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, will set the table. Father Darcy will hopefully still be with us, not having passed on from cirrhosis of the liver, and can help Mark Jr. and little Anna with the table. Hopefully, arrogant brother-in-law will be disowned by the family by then…or would have drowned in his own self-absorption.

Everyone was enjoying my tasty pudding. In fact, it was so popular that everyone had several helpings. Hurrah! Am genius! Should quit Sit Up Britain and begin new career as master baker straight away. Maybe can get own cooking show on cable food network…then will become so successful that will be invited to be on the Queen's royal culinary staff. Brilliant!

Mark stealthily placed his hand on my thigh with a little squeeze and gazed at me moonily. "The pudding is delicious darling. You are wonderful." He could see that my eyes were filled with disappointment with him though. He removed his hand and rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I'm sorry Bridget," he whispered. He seemed so conflicted and ashamed of himself. Suddenly wanted desperately to throw my arms around him and make it better…better for both of us. Together we are stronger than either of us alone. Reached for his hand and laced fingers with his.

Just then Mum yelped out in pain. She had found my ring! Broken her tooth, but found my ring! It must have fallen into pudding while I was mixing the ingredients. Hurrah!

"What is this? Colin darling? Is this an early wedding gift?" She gazed adoringly at the ring, placing it on her finger. "Ooo, it looks so expensive. How did you know which pudding to put it in darling?" Mum searched Dad's dumbfounded expression while holding the side of her face.

Still holding my hand under the table, Mark started to rub the tops of my fingers with his thumb. Then he leaned over, kissed my cheek and whispered, "So are you ready?" He stood up and asked Mum for the ring. "I believe that ring belongs to _my_ fiancé."

She stared at him with confusion. God, she can be so dense! "Mother!"

Mark continued, "Mr. and Mrs. Jones, a few days ago I asked your daughter to marry me and she has graciously accepted." He gazed down at me, took my hand ushering me to stand with him. "We would like very much to have your blessing." He slid the ring back onto my finger before kissing my hand and bowing in a manner in which Fitzwilliam Darcy might address Miss Elizabeth Bennett. Oh Mr. Darcy…

Everyone at the table broke into spontaneous applause and congratulatory comments…almost everyone. Mom and Una were literally squealing like piglets, huddled together already making plans, plans that may or may not actually involve me, the bride. Dad swaggered over and shook Mark's hand with a huge grin. "Welcome to the family son. I must say, it's about damn time." He gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek. Mum broke away from Una, apparently forgetting her toothache in the excitement, and scurried round the table to Mark. "Darling, I knew from the moment that your dear mother introduced me to you that you would make my daughter happy. I know my Bridget loves you very much and I love you too dear." Mark's eyes became glassy as my mum hugged him. Thank you Mum.

Elaine and Malcolm Darcy offered their best wishes as well but in usual eloquent, reserved manner with a half hug and a smile. V. lovely people but so devoid of true, appropriate emotion…emotion that their son desperately needs and I suspect wants right now. No wonder their children are the way they are. Admiral Darcy, Peter, and Mark all seem to be followers of Greek philosophy of Stoic, which by definition taught that virtue is the highest good and that men should be free from passion, unmoved by life's happenings. (Remember this from philosophy course at University.) In addition to this sort of upbringing, suspect that Peter might have been dropped on his head as a child as well and is still suffering from its effects. Felt bad for Mark, and even Peter for a brief moment.

We had all missed the Queen's traditional 3:00 address, as were too busy lingering at the dinner table eating pie discussing our upcoming wedding. Felt a bit guilty for suddenly upstaging parent's wedding but Mum didn't seem to mind as was sure she thought the day would never come when someone would actually willingly want to marry me, especially someone as utterly magnificent as Mark Darcy. I love him so…so gentle, kind, tolerant, and passionate. And yet, the deeper in love I fall with him, the more fearful I become of losing him, of waking up next to him one morning and not seeing forever when I look into his eyes. The pain would be truly unbearable. Why would Peter want to begrudge us happiness?

Peter Darcy was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking as if contemplating his next chess move. He had paid little attention to his wife and child all day and wondered if that was a reflection of his own upbringing, spending years in boarding school and also with parents who outwardly show v. little physical affection for each other. Also wondered if Anastasia knew what she was getting herself into when she married him.

Jamie who had been mingling with other guests entered the wedding conversation rather abruptly, "So have you been knocked up or what?" Jamie was laughing and obviously as pissed as Dad and Admiral Darcy by now.

"Jamie Jones that is not at all funny! We are getting married because we are in love, not because we have to, like you and Saffron did." Mark squeezed my hand as if confirming what I had said. "How are the twins anyway? Do you even ever visit your children?" I raised my voice accusingly. He said nothing. I swear, since his divorce, he acts more like an unreliable, fuckwit teenager than my _older_ brother.

It got worse after Jamie's remark as Mum and Una started in, "Oh when are we going to have this wedding?" _We?_ "How is June or July? Summer weddings are so lovely don't you think so Una?" Una shook her head like one of those wobbly bobble head dolls. "Oh Darling, we must make sure that we schedule the wedding around your delicate woman's time. It would be such a pity not to be able to have sex on your wedding night, wouldn't it Mark?." Gaaahhh! Everyone in earshot began to giggle and Mark's face went beetroot red. Is the room spinning? Feel as if am hyperventilating. Need bag to breath in or one of those airplane oxygen masks to spontaneously drop from the lounge ceiling.

"Actually Mrs. Jones," Mark managed to recover, "I mean no disrespect, but Bridget and I were thinking of April. She would like to have a spring wedding. We will work out those other issues that you spoke of." Mum and Una let out a collective gasp, as if it were a cardinal sin for the groom to be an outspoken party in the actual ceremony decision-making process. "I am all in favor of whatever _Bridget_ wants." Was so turned on by his lawyer-like tactfulness. Wanted to take him upstairs and shag him animalistically.

"Well then, I suppose April will do," Mum responded, trying to save face while excusing herself to join another group of guests dragging her rag doll Una behind her.

"Mark…Bridget." Peter ambled back over having been v. quiet for at least, oh, 20 minutes. "Let me be one of the first to congratulate you on your upcoming marriage." Mark shook his brother's hand, but I stood firm waiting for the other shoe to drop. "So do the two of you plan on having children?" There is was, right on cue.

Mark glanced at me with a warm smile. "Yes, I wish very much to have children with Bridget."

"So then Bridget, you are in favor of any potential Darcy sons going to Eaton? It's a tradition you know." Mark and I really had not discussed this point of contention since our pregnancy scare while on holiday last year. "Uh, well…that's still in negotiation really."

"Oh, is that right? So Mark, you are actually willing to break a long-standing family tradition?"

"I really think that is for Bridget and me to decide, Peter. Thank you for your concern though." Did I detect a bit of sarcasm in Mark's voice? Really not looking forward to revisiting that conversation given what happened the last time we talked about children. Caught Peter smiling ever so slightly to himself.

Dad, Geoffrey, Jamie, and Admiral Darcy were now beginning to belt out Christmas carols quite loudly, swaying with arms linked together as if about to start kicking their legs in manner of New York City Rockettes show. Mark and I met eyes with equally as horrified expressions. Mum, Una, and Mrs. Darcy all trying to persuade them to come down from the hearth for fear they would stumble backward into the blazing fireplace, not to mention embarrass themselves further. Jamie's whippersnapper Bambi…or Cookie…whatever her name was standing by ignorantly clapping and laughing at the spectacle, likely equally as pissed as them.

Mark and Peter were attempting to persuade their drunken father and the others down when heard Mark's mobile ring. Overheard him saying in muffled, irritated tone that he couldn't talk now and would see whoever it was next week.

Asked him later suspiciously who would be calling him on Christmas that he couldn't talk to.

"Uh…just a colleague from the office. We left a case unfinished for the holidays and she's just anxious to get things back underway."

"She?"

"Yes Bridget. I do work with women as well." He answered with irritation.

"Was it Rebecca?"

"Bridget please. Let's not get into that again." Left me to get a drink, or to avoid talking about it anymore. Hmm. Didn't answer the question.

"So Bridget…" Oh God, was Peter AGAIN. He's literally following me around. This time he started in with questions and snide remarks about my history with Daniel Cleaver, and reminding me of Mark's past with him, as if I didn't know. That's it!

Peter Darcy was abominably relentless in his attack of my character and had finally had enough! His patronizing Lady Catherine de Bourgh attitude had become tiresome and redundant. Philosophy from the Little Book of Stress popped into head. Bad is good. Yes, that's it! Bad is good. I'll fight fire with fire. And maybe, just maybe, he'll respect me for it.

"I have had quite enough of your nasty insinuations, accusations, and rudeness! Your smug, superior attitude, your hoity-toity Eaton and Cambridge education, your big house in Hong Kong, bi-lingual baby, skinny, perfect submissive wife, your stupid insincere pride… Was shouting at top of my lungs now. …And another thing, I may not be your idea of what a Darcy should be, and yes, sometimes I screw up, but the way I see it, I have a hell of a lot more integrity than you will ever have, Peter Darcy. So do us both a favor and leave me the hell alone!" For the first time all day he was speechless.

Stalked into the kitchen and leaned against the basin to regain composure and get away from the gaping mouths and prying eyes. Can't believe I did that, but it felt good. Liberating. He deserved it!

Heard footsteps and turned to find Mark standing in the doorway. "Are you alright?" he asked stoically.

Faced the basin again, staring blankly out the window. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you Mark. I promised that I wouldn't, but he deserved…" Mark spun me around and kissed me forcefully…hungrily.

"Oh God Bridget. I've never been more proud or in love with you than I am right now." We kissed again, straining with every fiber of our beings not to rip each other's clothes off and shag each other stupid right there on the kitchen floor. His hands were on my breasts and his tongue halfway down my throat when Mum and Una walked in.

"Mark Darcy just what _do_ you think you are doing!" Had never seen Mark look so petrified, not daring to face them until his arousal had subsided.

Geoffrey entered right behind them. "Looks like he knows exactly what he's doing. Wink. Wink"

"Oh hush up Geoffrey, you drunk bastard," Una fussed.

After a scolding from Mum, being accused of trying to ruin _her_ party by embarrassing the guests, she ushered us back into the lounge for more "family fun". Yippee. Could hear her and Una squawking about decency as they left the room. What the hell does she know about decency really? Most mothers would be proud of their children for standing up for themselves. Wouldn't they?

"I'm sorry about my, uh, wandering hands Bridge," Mark said as we walked toward the lounge.

"Don't be. 10 seconds later I would've probably had my hand in your trousers. Just imagine what she'd have said then." We both laughed.

"Prezzies, Prezzies! Time for prezzies everyone! Come gather round the tree!" Mum trilled while dancing around the room. The group amassed in the lounge and was soon a flurry of wrapping paper and ribbons. There was no shortage of wine bottle and jumper exchanges this year, many of which I suspect will be regifted or returned during tomorrow's Boxing Day excursions. This year's uninspired gifts from Mum and Una included a pair of wellies, tights, a hand hoover, and a wine rack, the wine rack actually being from Jamie. But this year, it didn't matter. I had everything that I wanted already.

"Bridget I have a special gift for you, my darling," Mark announced quietly and directed me to have a seat near the fireplace.

"Oh Mark, I didn't bring any of your gifts. They are all in London."

"That doesn't matter to me. Your happiness is my gift. I want to give this to you now." He handed me a small gift-wrapped box. Inside was a gold chain with an etched heart-shaped pendant."

"It's so beautiful Mark. I absolutely love it! Thank you sweetheart." Touched his face with the palm of my hand. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Open it," he prompted. Did not realize, but it was actually a locket. Inside was a picture of each of us as children on either side. My eyes were getting so misty that I couldn't see. "Turn it over darling" On the back of the locket was an inscription that read, 'Just as we are…always.' Tears were rolling down my cheeks now and my hands were shaking. "Bridget…" He cleared his throat, as was getting a little misty himself. "I know how sad you were when I told you that I couldn't give you my grandmother's wedding ring. I hope that this can make up for it. This pendant actually belonged to my mother and was given to her by my father just before they got married. It once held pictures of the two of them, and then later my brother and me. So, I had it engraved and I want you to have it as a symbol of my love for you."

We both suddenly became acutely aware that, once again, we had become the center of attention. Mark seemed embarrassed and quickly sat erect, bringing his emotions back into check. If he had been wearing a tie, surely he would have adjusted it, as he always does when nervous or uncomfortable. I reached for him and he shrank back slightly.

"Mark Daniel Darcy! Kiss you fiancé for goodness sake!" Elaine Darcy broke in. He became even more embarrassed now having been instructed by his mother to snog his girlfriend in front of a room full of people.

"Your middle name is Daniel?" I whispered with a giggle. He nodded resentfully. "I love you Mark Daniel Darcy." He kissed me innocently at first but then everyone in the room faded from our thoughts and our kiss became increasingly impassioned, Mark obviously forgetting his "Darcydom".

The long day finally wound down and guests were beginning to trickle out into the snowy night. The Darcys were saying their goodbyes and I watched Mark expectantly as he turned to approach me. "Bridget my love." He kissed me on the forehead. "I think it best if I go back to the house with my family for the night and make sure my father gets to bed safely."

"But this is your family too and I want you so badly tonight. Peter can look after your father." Wanted to beg him to stay.

"You know as well as I, darling, that there is no way your mother would let me anywhere near you tonight." I pressed my face against his chest, breathing in his scent and he wrapped his arms around me tightly. "Also, my brother and I have some things to discuss. I will come for you tomorrow morning and we can drive back home together." As he left, felt so sick.

**12:30am **Was lying in twin bed admiring the locket, unable to sleep when mobile rang. Was Mark.

"Hello my darling. Did I wake you?" His voice was so low and sensual.

"No. I was just lying in bed thinking about you."

"So was I." Momentary silence. "Bridge, I just want to apologize for my behavior today. There were so many times today when I should have defended your honor and I didn't. It's just that…," Silence.

"Mark?"

"It's just when I'm around my family…"

"Sweetheart, it's ok. I think I understand. You don't need to explain. I just want so badly to be with you right now…to feel your hands on my body…to feel your passion within me. I love you so much."

"Bridget, I feel the same. When we get back to London will you please move in with me? I can't wait until April to be with you."


	9. Chapter 9 Mothers and Stick Insects Gah!

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter IX

Mothers and Stick Insects – Gah!

_Weight: 9st 1 (Ugh!); Cigarettes: 10 (v.g); Alcohol Units: Enough to cause unwelcome hangover; Self-Absorbed, embarrassing parents: 1; Christmas trees salvaged: 1; Attempted Jellyfishing: 1_

**Wednesday, December 26**

**6:45am **Woke earlier than necessary. Heard no stirring from other occupants of the house. Laid silently staring at cottage cheese pattern of ceiling plaster. Had been v. difficult to sleep as was tossing and turning endlessly over question Mark had asked. Move in with him, he said. Actually not sure if can wait until April to be Mrs. Bridget Darcy, so moving in together would be the next best thing. Right? Every fiber of my being wants to accept, but when I turn him down for the second time, surely he won't understand or believe just how much I want to be with him…forever. Managed to dodge answering question last night by diverting conversation to Peter.

Said he didn't want to talk about his brother. His tone so filled with agitation and angst, didn't press the issue. Peter was so utterly haughty and just downright hateful yesterday. Sincerely hope he goes back to Hong Kong soon and never comes back again. Hate him!!! But really must think. Maybe some of what that insufferable beast said is true. Am I good enough to be a Darcy wife? Am nothing like Anastasia Ellsworth-Darcy, so tall, sophisticated, socially poised, and thin. Must face the facts: Am short, squishy, and unsophisticated; not exactly sharpest knife in the drawer either (as men like Peter and Daniel tend to point out). Bugger!!!

V. confused and a bit nauseous. Think will just try to get some more sleep…

**11:15am **Mark just rang and is on his way over. Unfortunately he rang parent's home phone and not mobile and so Mum answered. She somehow managed to talk him into not only staying for lunch, but also driving Una and her to London afterward for a day of shopping. Luckily he and I are not required to accompany them on the excursion, but were merely their drivers to the city. Have feeling will be a v. long drive home. Not even officially son-in-law yet and already imposing upon him.

**4:30pm **He arrived prompt as usual looking casually spectacular and bundled in denim trousers, green turtle neck jumper, and dark overcoat, as it had continued to snow through the night. We made eye contact and moved toward each other but Mum intercepted, acting silly and planted a kiss on each of his cheeks, then fidgeted with his hair. "Oh Mark darling! You're here, thank goodness," she crowed. Thank goodness? Does she fear that he might come to his senses and leave me (not that I don't do that myself practically everyday), or maybe she felt she needed protection from Dad and me. "Do come in and sit down." His polite nature allowed her to fuss over him but his eyes stayed with me as he was ushered to the sofa. Dad drudged in and slumped into a seat near him. "Bridget darling, help me in the kitchen with lunch will you," Mum said in form of a question but was actually an order. "Daddy can entertain Mark for a few moments." Shrugged at Mark then left with Mum.

Thankfully Mum is too busy worrying about her own wedding to try and commandeer mine…at least for now. Most of the meal was spent discussing Monday's ceremony (an odd day for a wedding, but Mum was adamant about having it on the last day of the year). Dad asked Mark to be a groomsman. Oh how handsome he will be.

"Oh by the way Mark, what's this I hear about you and your brother getting into a bit of a scuffle last night?" Mum asked as we cleared the dishes from the table. What was she babbling on about now?

"How did you hear about that?" Mark asked looking embarrassed. What??? Looked at him curiously as Mum spoke.

"Una rang this morning and said that her friend, Mavis, who lives in the same village as your parents told her that she saw the two of you tussling about in the snow last night and that you shoved his head into a snow embankment." Oh what a sight that must have been.

My jaw dropped. "Mark honey, is this true?" Touched his arm.

He swallowed hard. "Uh, yes, I'm afraid that it is. His behavior toward Bridget yesterday was inexcusable and…well, it started out as simply an argument but escalated into something that I'm rather ashamed of now."

"Tsk, tsk Mark," Mum wagged her finger. "What would my friends in the Lifeboat Book Club think of me having a son-in-law who goes around beating people up?" Dad and I looked at her as if she had grown a second head. Given her propensity for enjoying the company of younger men perhaps she should leave Dad and run away with Peter Darcy. They could spend their days gazing into the mirror, basking in their own self-importance.

Dad continued, "It sounds like you were defending my daughter's honor. I'm just sorry that it was against your own brother." He patted Mark on the back. He loves me!!! He really loves me!!! Just hope he won't hold Mum against me.

"Yes sir. My mother gave me quite a bollocking afterward but I suspect that she felt he deserved it as well."

"I didn't want to bring it up Mark, but that brother of yours is quite ill-mannered, isn't he?" Mum added, as she flitted out of the room with an armful of dishes.

After lunch Mark and I were finally able to steal a few moments alone while waiting for Mum to change and we immediately embraced as if we hadn't seen each other in years. He was still cocooning me to his chest when Mum and Dad came down the stairs. "Well Pam, I do believe that we are looking at a couple very much in love." Mum and Dad looked at each other and smiled proudly.

"Yes Mr. Jones. I just wish your daughter wasn't making me wait four long months to marry her." Gazed at lovely fiancé coquettishly. Didn't really want to wait that long either but needed at least a little time to plan wedding of my dreams…or as close to it anyway. Because is traditionally the responsibility of the bride's parents to pay for the wedding, will likely have to settle for plastic folding chairs in the garden under a marquee instead of elegant church wedding due to Mum's shenanigans and perpetual "bright" ideas not to mention her own wedding. Suspect that she had given up that I would ever get married and spent my wedding fund along with their retirement fund. Cannot expect Mark and his family to pay for everything though. Do not want to be a kept woman. After married, must maintain status as professional and independent free-thinker able to take care of self while also being a loving and supportive wife of well-known, successful lawyer.

In the car, really wished had been able to talk to Mark about moving in together, Peter, the price of cabbage at the market, anything…but unfortunately was a captive audience and sometimes unfortunate participant to Mum and Una's lunacy for two hours. Una's opening story about Geoffrey's Men's Club buddy being admitted to the hospital for having shoved an apple up his bum sort of set the tone of the entire trip. "What on earth did he do that for?" I gasped. Mum looked equally as intrigued.

"Bridget!" Mark blurted.

"What?"

"Think about it," he said, looking embarrassed as well as irritated for having been sucked into the rather inane conversation.

Mum and I looked at each other blankly still not getting it. Una then explained that he was trying to stimulate himself. Ugh!

"Oh my lord! What exactly goes on at that Men's Club?" Just confirms my suspicions about Geoffrey a little more. Glanced at Mark sheepishly. His return glance actually looked a bit condescending.

The conversation then shifted to Mum and Una jabbering back and forth in the back seat about "their" wedding as if Dad had no say in the matter. "Oh! Oh!" Mum blurted as if she had just been poked with a needle. "While we are out today Una, I must remember to pick up some Viagra for Colin. I couldn't possibly have him unable to perform his husbandly duties on the honeymoon. Poor dear has such a hard time of it sometimes. Why just last week, we were trying to uh, shag, as you young people say (looking at me), and the poor dear just couldn't get it up."

"Oh God Mum! Please…I'm sure my father would be mortified to know that you are telling us this!" Ugh! Mark ran his free hand down the side of his face, but said nothing.

"Oh poo. Nonsense darling. He wouldn't mind at all." Right.

Una shook her head in condolence to Mum not being able to "get any". Gah!!! Images of parents shagging like rabbits in spring is really too much to stomach. Scrunched nose at thought. Mark chuckled to himself until Mum asked him if he thought he would be needing any as well, because she knows where to get it at a cheaper rate. Mark suddenly looked as if he had been shot in the gut.

"Mother be quiet! Mark is much too young and virile to need Viagra. He is perfectly capable of making love to me whenever he wants without help...several times a day in fact." Oops! His face turned bright red.

"Bridget Jones do not be vulgar!"

"You brought it up," I argued.

"Ok ladies, time to change the subject." Poor Mark.

Eventually we dropped Mum and Una on Oxford St. to spend the day shopping and then take the train home. Mark then drove us home…his home. Alone at last. Barely 3 feet in the door we became like two wildebeests in heat. Had been so turned on by his passive aggression toward his brother and he by my assertiveness yesterday. He scooped me into his arms and sprinted up the stairs. Things got a little steamy after that. The bad is good philosophy is definitely something must consider referring to more often. Mark says I am a v. bad girl and must be punished to the full extent of the law. "Yes counselor. I agree I've been v. naughty and must throw myself on the mercy of the court." Hmmm…. If am going to continue to refer to this philosophy may need to be punished often.

Though it was still afternoon and pale light was streaming through the sheer curtains, Mark and I lingered in bed for a bit enjoying our sixth day as a blissfully engaged couple (4th if counting the nearly two days where Mark went missing). "Sweetheart?" lifted head from his bare chest to meet his eyes. "Why do you love me?"

"Darling, why do we have to do this practically every other day?" he answered with a sigh.

"I know that you do but…it's just that…" Rested my head back on his chest and began to lightly trace circles on his skin with my finger. "…you brother said…"

Mark abruptly rolled me onto my back and was staring down into my eyes. "Don't take anything that my brother said to heart, my love. Do you hear me? He's just an egotistical bastard! He doesn't even know you!" Propped on his elbows, he pushed a stray hair from my face then planted a few stray kisses on my neck and chest before giving my bare breasts a rather peculiar glance and then continued. "You had every right to say what you said to him." Crashed his head back onto his own pillow and continued, "I saw in him yesterday what you must have once seen in me."

"Arrogant yes, but you were never cruel." We laid silent for a while, my head bent into his shoulder.

Then he asked the question I had been dreading. "Should I move in with you or do you want to live here with me?" If ever I needed the instant advice of Jude and Shazzer it was now. Need to freeze time and ring them up. Felt self starting to sweat.

"Mark honey, I don't think we should live together yet." He watched me silently, blinking quickly. Could hardly believe the words came out of my mouth. So completely the opposite of what I really want. Stay strong Bridget. Fought back burning tears.

"I really don't understand. I thought you wanted to be together. Why are you rejecting me again Bridget?" The pained look in his eyes broke my heart. "It's because of Peter, isn't it?"

"Oh Sweetheart, I'm not rejecting you. I love you more than anyone or anything in the world. That's why I'm saying I want to wait and it's nothing to do with Peter." Tears that had been trying to hold back began to trickle down. He looked at me perplexingly. Of course this decision not to live with him is no huge moral issue, as have absolutely no intention of refusing sexual favors before we get married. That would be torture…for both of us. Definitely don't want him fleeing to the arms of someone else because I've denied him. "Just think of how great it will be when we get married, a new beginning. Not just continuing with something that we already have." Contemplated for a moment whether or not to bring up his ex-wife. "Besides, you and Loni lived together before and look what happened." Looked intently into his soft brown eyes. "You and I are different. Our love is forever."

There. Have told him everything…almost. Suspect that Sit Up Britain assignment will be much easier to do without Mark knowing my every move. Still not sure what all will have to do, but probably best that he not know too much about it.

**11:45pm **As if the beautiful locket wasn't enough, Mark had another gift for me. I couldn't believe it! Am being spoiled silly by wonderful fiancé. He made me promise to close my eyes while he led me out of the house. And there in the street in front of his Mercedes was my present…a brand new midnight blue convertible VW Beetle. Didn't remember seeing it there when we pulled up. Have never had a car of my very own, except for a bright orange Fiat banger given to me by my parents for miraculously passing A Levels. Better not tell Mark that I drove it into the back of a bin lorry four weeks later.

Wait a minute…Why such a small, inexpensive car? If he respected me as his equal partner, surely he would buy me something more extravagant…a Mercedes, BMW, Porsche, or Jag perhaps. Not that am partial to flashy cars or anything. Maybe he doesn't really trust me behind the wheel and is afraid that I might ask him to drive his new car. Oh the horror! He used to have a BMW. What happened to it? Hoity-toity car snob. The Beetle is quite cute though. He said he picked it because it's perky and cute, like me.

"Well, what do you think?" He stood there looking pleased with himself. Gave him a peck on the cheek and bounded down the steps. Began circling the car like a buzzard homing in on something dead, looking in the windows and giggling like a little girl. Silly Bridget. Mark had gone back in the house to get my handbag then handed me the keys. "Are you ready to go darling?" Looked at him moonily, grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him lovingly.

"Where shall we go?"

"Before we start trekking across the country why don't we start with a quick trip to your flat." Once buckled into the car he asked, "I suppose I should have asked this before but, you do still have a valid license, don't you?"

"Of course." Confidently shifted into gear and pulled away from the pavement. Could see from corner of eye that Mark had a death grip on his seat. "Why Mark Darcy, I do believe that you are afraid I might kill you."

"Not at all," he said rather unconvincingly, eyes on the road, his head darting from side to side. "It's not you dear. It's the other cars I'm worried about." Flashed me a quick grin. Ha ha. V. funny.

Made it to flat in one piece. Nothing to worry about. Silly man. But then locked keys in the car. Bollocks! Luckily he anticipated something like that and had an extra key made for himself.

V. surprised and confused to find flat all cleaned up. Was positive had left Christmas tree laying in floor when left for Mum and Dad's. Turns out that Mark had come round after I had already left and put everything right again. Tree was now leaning and bald on one side but was at least standing. Ornaments and lights that had not broken were replaced in random places. Was now a v. sparse, oddly shaped looking tree in manner of A Charlie Brown Christmas, but was beautiful to me.

Goody! Prezzies under the tree! Spent fantastic blurry evening drinking wine, eating pizza, and unwrapping gifts for each other laughing and listening to music. He seemed to really like the classic rock CD, leather-banded Fossil watch (yeah for charge cards), and the clothes. The silk purple underpants for the wedding especially amused him. Then I opened two boxes, both containing sexy lingerie. One pink outfit and the other red…innocence and sinful. Tried on red teddy and then he proceeded to take it off again. Hmmm…

**Thursday December 27**

**8:15am** Jolly good fun with Mark last night, drunken shagging by the fire, but feel as if have been run over by self's own new car this morning. Mark still sleeping. Looks so peaceful and cute bundled in duvet like in a chrysalis waiting to wake up and grow into a beautiful butterfly…beautiful man. Love him. Hmmm…

**8:20am** Why doesn't he wake up so he can feel as miserable as me? Ugh!!

**8:23am** Will just have a drink of water and an aspirin. Ooo…A ciggie usually helps the nausea too.

**8:27am** Feel much better now. Must clean up sick all over kitchen floor before Mark wakes up. Will not drink wine…or eat pizza ever again.

**8:35am **Maybe will go back and see if Mark is ready to get up yet.

**8:36am** Has not moved. Will just curl up next to him and sleep some more.

**10:45am **Jude just rang, back from visiting her husband, vile Richard's family in Birmingham for Christmas. Wants to meet at Coin's at noon for lunch with Shazzer, back from…whatever it is that she does in that dysfunctional excuse of a relationship with Simon. Feeling better thankfully so agreed. Wonder if Mark would like to go.

Was v. surprised when Mark said that he would. Excellent sign of happy, loving life together. Maintain good relationship with significant other's friends. Goody! Wonder if should try to hang out with Giles, Nigel, Jeremy, and Mark on their poker nights.

**2:45pm **Maybe should have told Jude and Shazzer that was bringing him. Their shocked expression as they saw us enter holding hands immediately alerted me that I had broken some unspoken Urban Family Moral Code by bringing the enemy into Summit Central.

Mark was an Urban Family Summit virgin and the girls showed no mercy, firing off questions at him to prove his worthiness of me.

"Am I under oath? Shouldn't I swear on a self-help book or something before I state my case?" He chuckled at his own lawyer joke. They didn't look amused. "I'm sorry ladies, I wasn't making fun. I, uh, oh I don't know. What do you want to know?" He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I patted his thigh supportively.

Unexpectedly though they both began to laugh. "That was very funny Mark," Shaz announced. Crisis averted. After that we were all able to have a v. pleasant lunch until Rebecca Gillis popped in and immediately upon seeing the four of us, strutted over to our table putting on typical showy airs in her Stella McCartney dress and Prada boots.

In completely phony friendliness, "Good afternoon ladies…Mark. Just popped in to grab a cappuccino. It's so lovely to see all of you. She sauntered slowly over to where Mark was seated, swishing her tight little bum from side to side as she did. "Mark darling, those depositions that we requested from the French office were finally faxed in. I've been trying to reach you desperately for days to let you know. Why haven't you rung me back." She touched his shoulder. Could have snapped her arm off like a twig for being so familiar with him. She obviously still cannot accept that he chose me over her.

"Rebecca, I told you, I will take care of it when I get back from Christmas holiday." Mark's tone seemed overcompensatory and rude. "Now if you will excuse us, I was having lunch with my fiancé and our friends." She looked at him scornfully.

Redirecting her snake eyes at me, "Bridget, you'd better keep an eye on him. He's a feisty one." She turned on her heels and flounced off to the counter.

Raised my brow and glared at him, waiting for explanation. "I don't know Bridget. I've said it before and I'll say it again…I'm sorry that I ever got manipulated into getting involved with her, but there's no one now or ever again that I want to be with but you. I love you." Smiled and gave him an Eskimo kiss, then another lightly on his soft lips.

"Awww." Shazzer and Jude looked at us then at each other and smiled.


	10. Chapter 10 Purple Wedding Bell Blues

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter X

Purple Wedding Bell Blues

_Weight: 9st 4 (Gah! Maid of honor dress no longer fits properly)Cigarettes: 10 (g. Alcohol Units:2 (v.g.) Purple pant sightings: 0_

**Monday December 31**

**9:15am **Just found out that the entire Darcy clan, including pretentious Peter Darcy and wife who are still visiting from Hong Kong through the 15th of January, are attending Mum and Dad's wedding today. Not sure why, as surely he looks upon the Joneses as lower class life forms unworthy of his acquaintance. Why would he come unless he wanted another go at me. Well, I haven't the time. Much too busy trying to make the best of these hideous costumes Mum is having Una and me wear, while trying to cope with this terrible queasiness in stomach as a result of last night's party. Though, come to think of it, had consumed v. little alcohol. Had left Mark in London yesterday morning, as was my duty as maid of honor to host the obligatory hen night. What the hell does Mum need with a hen night? Technically she's already married and has been for almost 40 years. Sometimes just think maybe that's how long Dad has been held hostage.

Una did most of the planning for hen night. Knowing Mum and her, always trying to be younger than their years, had correctly predicted the involvement of a Tantra coach, exotic male dancer, or similar. When most women on the eve of their wedding would be swinging from the chandeliers, found self calmly sitting cross-legged on a mat "breathing" and discovering self's sexual energy. Felt more than a bit uneasy sitting across from Elaine Darcy learning how best to please her son sexually.

**10:45am** Mark had not seen his brother in 6 days, not since their fight on Christmas night. Their relationship now strained at best. Mark had come straight to the house for that reason, telling his parents that he would see them when they arrived at the church. When he arrived, looking dashing as usual, he immediately assured me that he was wearing his purple pants. He offered to give me a preview into tonight's ringing in of new year but unfortunately there had been no time for that at the moment as were all due at the church in 30 minutes to begin preparations.

**11:45am **"Bridget darling, I just don't think I can go through with this."

"What are you talking about Mum? You've already been through it for 38 years now!"

"Oh! Right. It must just be nerves then. Silly Mummy. Be a dear and help me put these feathers in my hair."

Brought Mum a cup of tea to settle her nerves then left to put on bride's maid dress. V. tight and uncomfortable, puckering across breasts and midsection. Was regretting how gluttonous self had been over Christmas holiday. Is absolutely imperative now to make New Year resolution to lose at least 1 and a half stone by self's own wedding in April. Can then be waifish and elegant, in manner of Kate Moss, when walking down aisle into the waiting arms of Mark Darcy. Second resolution: Must find out what's going on with self's sodding breasts, as are starting to resemble cumbersome, dark knobbed cantaloupes.

Ghastly gown with Yeti-like faux fur vest was literally sucking life out of me. Look similar to gigantic lilac beluga. Hopefully when I start to turn blue, Mark will give me mouth to mouth resuscitation and not someone like "Uncle" Geoffrey or scary cousin Harry with the bulging glass eye and out of control nose hair.

**12:00pm **Ugh! Still thinking about beluga. Think am going to be sick…

**12:10pm** Stuck head out of bridal room. The church was filled mostly with people unknown to self. Probably coming from far and away to witness in disbelief the re-union. How has Dad managed to put up with Mum for so many years…well, there is the heavy drinking. With a half loony mum and an alcoholic father, self was destined to have some personal issues. Humph.

Jude, Shazzer, and Magda had all finally arrived and were huddled together. Richard and Simon were separate, but near. Jamie was seated near the front of the church with his arm across the shoulders of a blonde…not Gillian. Mark was standing at the rear of the church, already dressed in dark suit for the ceremony, with Jeremy and Giles. He turned around when he heard the door squeak and flashed me a devastatingly sexy smile that made me feel like the luckiest woman on the planet.

**3:35pm** With only 5 minutes to go before show time, began to coach self on what to do while walking the procession as we all got into position in the vestry. My 4-year old twin nieces (Jamie's rarely seen by him offspring) were sharing flower girl duties, then Una, then me, then Mum in all her feathery ball gown poofiness. Must admit, she did look like a beautiful princess complete with glowing expectant bride aura.

While walking down the aisle MUST:

1. demonstrate poise and inner beauty (so as to negate outer disaster)

2. walk slowly to avoid getting heel caught in train of gown, thereby falling on Una, who would then fall on nieces, creating embarrassing domino effect, in which Mum would have to step over carnage to get to the alter.

3. look straight ahead, concentrating on Mark's face standing at alter with Dad, as to avoid making eye contact with Peter Darcy.

Upon entering the sanctuary, immediately broke rule number 3…and subsequently rule number 1 by casting my eyes directly into the black snake eyes of Rebecca Gillis. Gah! What the hell is she doing at my parent's wedding! Was so fixed on her as I moved up the aisle, did not stop when was supposed to, thus tripping over a step causing self to lunge into Dad, who more closely resembled a cross between Willy Wonka and the Purple Pie Man (nemesis of Strawberry Shortcake) than a groom.

As Mum and Dad exchange vows, tried to push thoughts of evil Rebecca as far away as possible and focus on the beautiful moment taking place. The recommitment of two souls after so many years of wedded quasi-bliss. Just hope that Mark and I can have the same enduring love that both of our parents share. As if had been thinking the exact same thing at the exact same moment, he glanced over at me with a glint in his eye and charmingly adoring hint of a smile. Is kismet! Hmmm…Can hardly wait to spend rest of self's life as Mrs. Bridget Darcy. Mrs. Bridget Jones-Darcy? Haven't decided what will call self yet.

Retreated from the church with Mark as my escort, not bothering to seek out Rebecca Gillis this time, as she was undoubtedly watching us enviously. As we walked, I asked Mark if he knew why she was there. He said that she was Giles's date, unbeknownst to him that he was just a pawn in her game and that she was most certainly not welcome. She, however, knew that she was not welcome. Also asked Mark if he had any idea why she keeps popping up everywhere. To which he replied that he did not have any idea.

We all gathered in the snow to watch as Mum, without coincidence, threw her illuminated bouquet directly at me. Unfortunately though, the ground was slippery and landed flat on my rear…but still managed to keep a firm grasp on the flowers. Hurrah! Superstition don't fail me now! Mark kissed me…and kissed me…and…when we reemerged from each other's spell, we were alone in the snow.

Other guests were leaving for the reception, but Mark and I lingered behind. Instead taking a walk. Was the first time that we had really had a serious conversation about our wedding, aside from deciding to have it in April. Lovely how weddings make even men sentimental. He made a gallant attempt at convincing me not to be so prideful and allowing him the "honour" of paying for the wedding, as money is not important, but my happiness is. V. sweet. Decided that this would be a nice church for the ceremony as well.

The reception was at Geoffrey and Una's home, decorated in, what else? Lilac and white crape bells, lilac roses, lilac… Mum and Dad weren't due to leave for their honeymoon until morning. Mum had arranged for a 7-day Tantric retreat in Hawaii, complete with their own spiritual advisor and personal tiki hut in which to practice their newly acquired skills. Must applaud Mum's powers of persuasion to get Dad to agree to such a thing. She will likely spend the two weeks trying to help him find his spiritual being, while he, in turn, will be trying to find the nearest wet bar. Can only imagine the wealth of enlightenment she will undoubtedly inflict upon Mark and me when they return. Ugh! V. likely to fall under the "too much information" category.

Best part of their honeymoon…no dreaded Turkey Curry Buffet. Hurrah!

Had been v. disappointed that had gone almost all day without so much as a hello to Urban Family. Tom was a no-show, saying that he regrets not being there but will be on a cruise to Aruba at the time of the wedding with boyfriend , Juan. Is that the hairdresser, the painter, or the professional volleyball player? Difficult to keep track of Tom's social agenda anymore.

Immediately set Jude and Shazzer to work to find out what possible reason the evil stick insect could have for being there. How dare she use sweet and fragile Giles Benwick in that manner. Surely she doesn't have a genuine interest in him. What a mismatched looking couple!

The girls dutifully accepted their assignment with fervor, leaving Simon and Richard alone yet again.

Spun around to search for Mark but instead found myself looking up at Peter Darcy, devastatingly handsome, in spite of himself.

"Ah, Bridget almost didn't recognize you there without a drink in your hand or tripping over something."

Responded first with fake, tight-lipped smile. Peter Darcy will not spoil my day! Deep breath…remember inner poise. Peter Darcy will not spoil my day. "Look! I love your brother and he loves me…and we are going to get married. I really don't care what YOU think of me Peter Darcy!"

"Oh but I think you do," he said with all the arrogant self-confidence of three Daniel Cleavers rolled into one. Gah!

Suddenly a booming voice from behind, "Leave her alone," was Mark. He grabbed Peter by the front of his dress shirt and pushed him up against the wall. "or I'll break your arms this time!" Nearby guests turned and gasped. Malcolm Darcy rushed over to extract his youngest son from his eldest's personal space.

"Relax, I was just saying hello." Peter started to walk away but then turned back. "You're becoming one of them, dear brother. Tsk. Tsk. What's next? Drunken sex in public?" Mark lunged at him again. Took me and Admiral Darcy to hold him back.

The Admiral then followed Peter, giving him hell all the way, until they disappeared into the crowd. Mark was more agitated than had seen him in a long time. My dear sweet protector. What a wonderful husband he will be.

Mark and I held each other close, our foreheads touching, swaying slightly to music that was only in our hearts.

**5:20pm **After a few hours the party was beginning to break up and as guests were leaving. Found myself being congratulated just as much as if I had been the bride. Mum had made a speech about her life with Dad, during which she went off on a tangent, as she so often does, about how her 35 year old spinster of a daughter had finally found a man that was actually willing to marry her and that she was looking forward to grandbabies in the v. near future. Gah! Dad eventually wrangled the microphone from her and thanked everyone for coming.

Mark was leaving too. We had ridden up separately, so would have to do the same going back. Said that he needed a little time to get my New Year surprise ready for me at home. What? More than just a purple pant striptease?

**12:15am** Was exhausted and crashed into a chair in Una's sitting room, plucking shoes off. Thought I was in the room alone as most everyone else had already left or was in another area of the house. "Bridge?" Was Shazzer. She and Jude came and sat next to me looking troubled.

"So what did the super snooping duo find out? Let me guess, she came with the intention of stalking Mark, but has now fallen madly in love with his evil brother Peter. Now there's a couple perfect for each other….Oh, I know, she was never actually interested in Mark at all, but was a clever scheme to make me jealous because it's me that she really wants. That's it isn't it?" Started to giggle but no one else joined in. "What's the matter?"

"We don't quite know how to tell you this…" They looked from me to each other and back again, taking my hand. "We confronted Rebecca and asked her what the fuck she was doing here."

"Guys you're scaring me. And she said?"

"We'll save the details but she claims that she and Mark…uh, slept together 3 days before Christmas."

"WHAT?"

Jude began to speak quickly. I began to panic. "Bridge, that's just what she said. It probably isn't true. Mark loves you. It's obvious to everyone that he only has eyes for you. He had just proposed to you for God's sake! It doesn't make sense."

Stared in stunned silence out the window. "I've got to go!" Was walking around in a trance-like state trying to find my coat and handbag.

"Bridget, you're in no condition to drive. Let Richard drive you and we'll follow." Jude took the keys from my hand.

In the car, went through a myriad of emotions; sadness, doubt, rage, and then back again. Had been the longest ride of my life to Mark's townhouse. Got out of the car without thanking Richard or taking keys and stormed up to the door, barely able to think straight. Was what Jude and Shazzer said about Rebecca true? Can't be! Can't be! Mark loves me…doesn't he?

Pounded on the door until a petite, porcelain-skinned Japanese stick insect opened it. Gah! "Who the hell are you!" Oh Christ! He's triple dipping!

"I am Yuki, Mr. Darcy's housekeepa," she answered in strange broken English, as in cross between Japanese, English, and Minnie Mouse. "You muss be…" Pause. So help me if she says Rebecca… "Brish-it." Hmm..had to make sure to match proper girl with name.

Pushed way past her. "Where is he?"

"In hi- office. Iss down the hall to the…" She looked at me frightfully as if I might bite her head off if she didn't shut her mouth immediately.

"I know where his sodding office is!" Headed directly into the book-lined room to find him sitting at his desk, laptop open.

"Bridget darling…you're back." He stood and began to approach me. "Thank you Yuki," he continued, looking in direction of the door.

Stepped back as he tried to pull me in for a hug. "What's wrong Bridget?"

"Did you really do it?"

"Do what?" Expression of guilty panic immediately washed over him.

"Did you sleep with Rebecca Gillis just before Christmas?" I spat. His face contorted and could see his Adam's apple bob as if swallowing a grapefruit whole. Long, agonizing pause. Oh God! Oh God No!

"Yes"

Stood unable to speak or move, not believing that it was true.

"Bridget it was an accident. I…I didn't mean to do it…you have to believe me."

"I'm supposed to believe that you _accidentally_ slept with Rebecca Gillis? So you just accidentally fell on top of her…naked?" Thought self's head was going to explode from rage.

"It happened the night you threw me out of your flat…"

"Oh! So it's my fault?"

"No. No…I was so upset, sad, and angry that I couldn't even think straight. Instead of going home I went to the pub." He looked so truly pathetic. "Bridget, please believe me…I don't even know what happened after that. I woke up the next morning in bed with her."

Thoughts of Rebecca and all her lies, starting back with kissing her nephew in Gloucestershire, began overloading head. Turned toward door but wave of overpowering emotion seized my body like a heart attack and I dropped to my knees and cried and screamed uncontrollably. Mark without pause wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face in my hair. "Bridget, you are my heart. I'm never going anywhere."

My momentary sadness turned back to anger, and scrambled to my feet. "Yes, but I am." Nearly knocked over Yuki flinging open the door, who had apparently been listening at the door.

"What are you saying Bridget?"

"I don't trust you. We can't be together anymore." Slammed the front door.


	11. Chapter 11 Heartache and Pork Rinds

Many thanks to Kathy for the continuous feedback and encouragement to keep going.

As I said before, this story was planned out several months ago, even before HF started writing BJD again. Similar events (i.e. pregnancy) are just coincidental. Those of you against the pregnancy storyline, rest assured, it will not be the main focus.

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XI

Heartache and Pork Rinds

_Weight: 9st 1 (likely due to frequent trips to the loo) Cigarettes: 0; Alcohol Units: 0; Memories of New Year shag: 0; Fiancés: 0; Dinner dates: 1; Conversations with a tadpole: 1_

**Tuesday January 1**

**2:30am **Don't even remember the drive home from Mark's. Was a haze of stinging tears, headlights, and hooters across the few blocks. Just know that while the rest of the world is out ringing in the New Year, on this night of new beginnings, self is crying hysterically with head in the toilet having now become pathetic rerun of former self, sad Singleton.

Answerphone had been blinking when I stepped into the flat. "Bridget…It's me. Call me when you get this message. I need to know that you got home safely. Please call me." Pause. "I love you." The line went dead…just like self's love life. Not going to call him. He should worry.

**4:05am **Tried to sleep, but was impossible. Can't believe Mark would sleep with Rebecca Gillis! Can't get the images from my head. She isn't really even his type, so lacquered, showy, and fake. That's what he said he loved about me anyway...that I was not any of those things. Guess that doesn't really matter though, as no man can resist a willing piece of arse. Why do men always feel so inclined to cheat on me? Bastard! Bastard! Bastard! The realization that Mark Darcy is no different than Daniel Cleaver is agonizing. I hate him! Damn! Think I have to puke again.

**8:30am **Oh my bloody hell! Can't take this nausea anymore. Lying awake, having just gotten back in bed for the third time in 15 minutes. Was afraid to say out loud what I knew in my heart why this was happening, and had been happening for about a week now. Was v. cruel twist of fate indeed.

**11:10am **Really no point in getting out of bed anymore. Rolled over and buried face in "Mark's" pillow…smelled like his hair. Held it close, curling into fetal position as deluge of tears started again.

**12:30pm **Mobile…oh, maybe Mark, desperately want to hear his voice, but no…am angry with him. Don't trust him. Hate him. Was Shaz.

"Bridget?" She sounded cautious. "How are you? Are you at Mark's?"

"No. Mark and I are through. He's a lying, cheating, arsehole and I never want to see him again!"

"I'll ring Jude and we'll be round straight away. Don't move." No problem. Have no immediate plans to leave bed…bathe…brush hair...eat (except maybe pork rinds for which in the past few days, have developed newfound appreciation for)…. Will just waste away and die a lonely, smelly, broken woman.

Phone...was a woman peddling cheese of the month subscriptions. Unless that wheel of sodding "January" Gouda is going to curl up next to me at night and talk to me about legal briefs and the fight against discrimination while seductively kissing my neck, want no part of it! Her chirpy singsong voice was irritating and so had no choice but to say something v. rude before hanging up.

Seconds later, phone again… "I thought I told you to fuck off!"

"I…I know you did, but I just wanted to see if we could talk. I'm sorry…sorry…too soon." The line went dead. Gah! Was Mark. He sounded so sad and broken. Maybe should just ring him back and…No, no, no! Must maintain dignity otherwise will just send message to the Mark Darcy's and Daniel Cleaver's of the world that it is perfectly acceptable to fanny about with whomever they please whilst I wait at home with their slippers in hand keeping supper hot in the oven.

**5:30pm **Jude and Shaz let themselves in, barreling toward me, still lying in bed, with the usual crisis remedies—3 bottles of Chardonnay, one for each of us.

"How are you doing Bridge?" Jude asked sweetly, sitting on the bed next to me, brushing the stray hairs off of my face.

"Miserable." Barely able to lift head from pillow. "The Alsatians may come for me now. I'm ready."

"So the bastard really did do it?" Shaz blurted. "I told you Bridget, once a fuckwit, always a fuckwit!" This is not helping. "Damn it! The nerve of him trying to be all funny and nice at lunch last week." Shaz was pacing as she continued ranting. "He was just trying to suck up to us so we wouldn't suspect anything. The bastard! Jude do you remember how calm and cool he was when that evil two-faced tart walked in? I bet he was sweating in his shorts." Jude noticed that I was not cheering Shaz on, but crying again.

"Bridget, it will be alright. You just need a little time and to stay busy with other things. Maybe we can take a mini-break this weekend. Here, why don't you have a glass of wine and a ciggie. That always makes you feel better." Jude stretched a glass toward me, but I pushed it away, now crying a bit harder. Shaz and Jude were now puffing away on their own cigarettes. Hmm. How lovely a ciggie would be right now, but had officially quite drinking and smoking 9 hours ago, and on the worst day of self's life. Seemed more like 9 days already.

Finally managed to choke out everything that was said last night. Then Shaz jumped in again, "What kind of bloody fool does he take you for? How can you _accidentally_ shag someone? That's fucking rubbish!" She always reacts to an Urban Family crisis much more harshly when something goes wrong in her own love life. Have sneaking suspicion that she may not have rung in New Year exactly as planned either. Will ask about that later.

"You know what the worst part of all of this is?" I continued between sobs. "I'm almost positive that I'm pregnant." Their jaws both dropped.

"Bridget Jones! How are you going to take care of a baby? You can barely afford to take care of yourself." What? No congratulations? Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for from supposed best friends.

"I will be able to take care of my baby and myself just fine thank you very much!" I said indignantly, wiping my tears with a tissue and sitting up for the first time since they had arrived. "And anyway, Mark will make sure that his child is well taken care of." Oh God! What if he wants custody of baby as he thinks I will be an unfit mother as well?

"So you're going to tell him about the baby?"

"Of course I am! I'll have to. It's his baby too! Besides that, he lives 5 blocks away. It's not likely that I'd be able to hide something like that from him." Laid back down. "I'm just not going to tell him _yet_. I can't face him right now." Reached for another tissue. "I don't know for sure that I am pregnant, but all signs point to it…disastrous morning…afternoon…evening sickness, gigantic, tender breasts, tired…

"I'll run out to the chemist and get you a test," Jude said, reaching for her handbag. "We must find out!"

"I don't need to pee on a stick to know. I just know. Call it my first flash of mother's intuition." Sat back up. "This is supposed to be the happiest time in a woman's life and sodding Mark Darcy has ruined that for me." Mood was fluctuating back to anger again. Had been on a crazy sadness and anger roller coaster all day. Was emotionally exhausting to say the least.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'll make an appointment with the doctor in the morning." Wonder if obstetricians do home pregnancy examinations so won't have to get out of bed.

"I thought you had to go back to work tomorrow?"

"Fuck!" That's the last thing I want, to deal with Richard Finch and Daniel Cleaver who when together are more like a pair of jackals searching for a poor defenseless rodent to prey upon than actual human beings. They had become fast friends and drinking mates when Daniel joined the Sit Up Britain team, which didn't surprise me in the least.

"So take the day off," Jude suggested. "Tell Finch that you're sick."

"I can't. He already told everybody before we went on holiday that if we aren't back on the 2nd, don't bother coming back."

**Later **Alone in flat. Opened up laptop Mark had given me as a hand-me-down when he bought a new one last week. Oh, email! Goody! But was only from Richard Finch. He had sent a bulletin with a long list of possible websites that I might want to peruse. Will look at it in the morning. Was sort of hoping that Mark would send me a message. But then again, best that he doesn't.

Mark had helped me set up new email account, BJD.uk… Now just a cruel reminder of what cannot be. There will be no Bridget Jones Darcy.

There were other reminders of Mark around the flat: An issue of British Journal of Politics & International Relations (Ugh!) lay open on the bedside table, his running shoes tucked neatly under the bed, toothbrush next to mine on the wash basin along with the watch I had given him for Christmas, two day old coffee cup on the kitchen counter...Got out one of his blue t-shirts hanging in the wardrobe. Put it on, closing my eyes imagining that it was he that was holding me as I tried desperately to sleep.

**Wednesday January 2**

**8:00am **Not looking forward to seeing Daniel Cleaver again having just split from Mark. He will likely feel inclined to let loose with a few snide remarks. Will surely be equivalent to tooth extraction with rusty garden clippers. Don't want it being public knowledge that Mark Darcy and I have split up yet again, likely assuming that it was me that buggered something up. Will have to keep wearing engagement ring for now.

**9:30am Sit Up Britain office **V. nice to have own car, but wonder if Mark will want it back now that… Arrived for first day back at work on time. Hurrah! That's at least one thing that Finchy can't nag me about today. Speaking of which here he comes…

"Whoa, Bridget Jones!" Ogling self's breasts "Your, uh, _clients_ will love your new look. Well done!"

Ignoring the piggish comment. "Clients?"

"Surely Bridget you haven't forgotten about your big assignment. This is your big break! Just think how proud your big lawyer boyfriend will be of you. I'm thinking alcoholic middle-aged cheating husbands…I'm thinking horny sex addicted man-whores…I'm thinking washed up, pathetic old geezers looking to jack one off with a young tart once more before dying. Are all these dating services really safe and on the straight and narrow, or is that just a front to cover up what's really going on? That's what you're going to find out Ms. Jones!" He was grinning and flailing his arms expressively.

"Well I had my doubts about this assignment, but you've set my mind at ease Richard," I responded sarcastically. He didn't get it. Cannot believe I've gotten myself into this. What does he mean, to cover up what's really going on? Oh shit! Have v. bad feeling that am going to be found dead in the street.

"That's the spirit Bridget," He patted my shoulder and took one last look at my swollen breasts before slithering off.

**1:30pm Lunch Break at Dr. office **Jude joined me outside the office for moral support, clutching my left hand tightly while I clutched a half eaten bag of pork rinds in the other. Shaz couldn't get away from work. Was a bundle of nerves.

The exam was v. quick and confirmed what I already knew. "Well young lady," (young to him perhaps, as he appeared to be not a day younger than 108) "looks like you are about two weeks along. Congratulations!"

Was prescribed prenatal vitamins, told to eat crackers and plenty of protein, and then sent on my way. Jude looked at me pitifully. Knew what she was thinking, because had thought same thing myself…Poor Bridget, single, "mature" mummy-to-be, cheating baby father, and no money…

**1:40pm **All will be fine. I am Bridget Jones…self reliant and resourceful. Right.

**3:00pm Sit Up Britain office **Back in cubicle. 1 hour until afternoon briefing. Had better take a look at those websites.

Meet-A-Mate, LoveLife, DreamDate, Lovers&Friends, Matchmaker…and the list goes on. Had no idea that there were so many lonely Singletons looking for love. Russians, Chinese, Americans, African Bushpeople…turns out that being tragically single is an international epidemic. In a way, makes self feel better, not so disconnected from the human race, as have often felt throughout self's three and a half decades on the planet. This assignment may actually be fun and enlightening after all. Will provide needed distraction from the doom and despair that has become self's reality.

**5:20pm **Had first ridiculous post-holiday conversation with Daniel Cleaver when all assembled for afternoon briefing. "How are you Daniel?" I said, trying to sound somewhat aloof and disinterested so as not to invite unwelcome flirting.

"Not so great. My flat caught fire the other night." His eyes began to wander and then brighten like a child who had just spotted an enormous bag of sweets. "But on the bright side, your tits are huge. Darcy treat you to a bit of enhancement for Christmas? More of a gift for himself I suspect. Lucky bastard."

"Oh shut up!" Started to turn away to find a seat at the opposite end of the conference room.

"Bridge, is that any way to talk to a man whose home just burned down?"

The conversation ended when Richard Finch entered the room. He ran through the agenda for the month, discussing everyone's individual assignments with usual boorish exuberance. Then he reminded everyone of my assignment and the newbies as well as a few of the veterans actually seemed a bit envious that such a job would be given to me. Felt v. proud. Was finally gaining professional respect and moving up in the world! Hurrah!

**Later **Finch popped his head into my cubie followed by Daniel. Oh God the jackals are flocking! What?

"Bridget, just wanted to let you know that Cleaver here has volunteered to look after you on your, uh, excursions." Looked from Richard to Daniel, who was wearing his usual smug expression.

"So Daniel has graciously accepted the opportunity to spy on me. I see." Cocked a suspicious brow at Daniel.

"Not spy Bridge; make sure you are safe. You never know what kind of creeps are out there preying on beautiful women such as yourself," Daniel defended. Great. Will be kept "safe" from creeps preying on beautiful women, by the Master creep himself.

**9:30pm **Ended up having an early dinner appointment (refuse to acknowledge it as a date) with Daniel Cleaver after work. Don't even know how he managed to talk self into it. He's just slyly persuasive in that way. His flat really did catch fire. Felt bad that I didn't believe him at first. Note to self: Never go to bed without first blowing out all candles, even when preoccupied by overnight guests. Shouldn't be a problem, as will not likely ever have an overnight guest again.

Excused self early from the restaurant as was not feeling well. Wasn't really hungry anyway, likely due to baby…or too many pork rinds.

**11:40pm **Sitting alone in bed…just me and tiny life growing inside. Put a hand on my tummy, but of course not able to actually feel anything, as baby is likely the size of a tadpole.

"Little one, Mummy promises to take good care of you. Actually some would think Mummy incapable as I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, but not now as Mummy is older and wiser and will always do what is best for you. Of course you were unexpected, yes, but not a mistake. Never a mistake.

I know that your daddy will be happy to know about you too, but please forgive Mummy for not telling him about you yet. I will…in time. He's a good man, Baby, and I'll always love him because he gave me such a precious gift, but Mummy can't be with him anymore because he betrayed me just like all the other's before him have. Why, oh why did he have to go after that wicked Rebecca Gillis…sickening stick insect that she is? I so wanted him to be different. Well, he is different, as it is not usually easy for him to express himself or show how he feels. And I, well, I tended to embarrass him without really meaning to. So, when we were together things weren't always so good. I really thought things were starting to work out though… I guess you never know with people.

Your daddy and I have actually known each other for a very long time, since we were children, sort of, but we really didn't start to get to know each other until two years ago. The first time I saw him, I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever seen, but soon began to think that he was way out of my league and quite arrogant. You see, he's a successful barrister who makes sure that people are treated with respect and equality. He grew up very privileged, having the best of everything and went to the best schools, even though I have referred to him on more than one occasion as having a poker up his arse that he is not allowed to remove. Mummy, grew up, well…with Grandmummy and Grandpa and Uncle Jamie. You'll see what I mean after you are born. We lived entirely different lives, but we had an unexplainable attraction to each other. I suppose we still do….like a strange magnetism that makes us want to shag each other whenever we are together. Oops…shouldn't say things like that for little ears to hear. Do you even have ears yet?

Through all of the misunderstandings and miscommunication Daddy and I grew stronger and fell madly in love."

Realized that was crying. Went to the kitchen for a handful of pork rinds and a glass of milk. The doctor says that carbs and proteins before bedtime should ease the morning sickness. Maybe should drink the whole carton of milk. Better go to bed. Have a long day tomorrow.


	12. Chapter 12 No New Messages

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XII

No New Messages

Weight: 9st; Fiancés: 0; Thoughts about ex-fiancé /father of my child: 620 (rough estimate); Imaginary jumpers knitted: 24; Flatmates: 1; Calls/emails from ex-fiancé: 0

**Thursday January 3**

**7:40am **Good to see the protein before bed thing is working. Have only made mad dash for toilet 3 times so far instead of 6, but there's still time. V. early yet. Ugh!

**8:00am **Gah! Bloody alarm clock! Evil inventions of torture! Just one more thing trying to tell me what to do and when to do it. Feel like that cat in the cartoon ...he is fast asleep and that yappy dog runs up beside him and goes "YAP YAP YAP! and the poor cat hits the ceiling suffering from the shakes of which you only see in drunks or addicts who need another hit. The man who invented the alarm clock (And it HAD to be a man...no woman would ever be so sadistic as to create something to tell her to get out of bed), has a special fireside seat reserved just for him in Hell. Right next to the man who dreamed up treadmills and hip hugging bell-bottoms. I fooled it though. Was already awake being sick. Ha

**8:15am **Still in bed. V. sad. Why hasn't Mark tried to call and beg for forgiveness? Bastard! Oh, maybe an email…

**8:18am** No email…from anyone. Really need a ciggie. One won't hurt baby, right?

**8:19am** Maybe just a few drags…no, better not. Uuuuggghhhh!

**8:20am** Doctor Monroe says that even nicotine gum could raise baby's heart rate. I AM SO SCREWED! He suggested taking up needlepoint or knitting. I should sew, exercise, or clean whenever I get the urge to smoke. Right. Can see it now, "Sorry Richard, I don't have that research you asked for 3 days ago, but can I interest you in a toilet paper cozy?"

**8:23am** Have finally reached lowest point in self's life. Want to just pull covers over head and sleep until late August when baby is due. Then life will have purpose.

**8:25am** Is self's own fault for being depressed really. Mark did not chuck me. I chucked him. Should just ring him and explain that it doesn't matter that he has slept with a stick insect. After all, it was I who shouted at him and told him to get out of my flat that night. The important thing is that we can move forward with our baby and not dwell on the past (even if the past was just 12 days ago). Better just ring Jude first for her opinion on the matter.

**8:40am **Maybe presenting her with such a plan before her morning coffee and ciggie wasn't such a good idea. Best friend now believes self to be half-witted idiot. "What the hell are you thinking Bridget? Are you high on prenatal pills?" she said. Made me promise not to do anything stupid, get dressed, go to work, and to meet her for lunch at 12:45.

**9:55am Sit Up Britain office **Bugger! Note on desk from Richard Finch instructing me to come to his office. Knows I'm late! Shit! Don't want to tell him that reason was because am debilitatingly depressed and couldn't find a clean bra that would fit properly. Am now wearing loose fitting tank top under blouse instead. As result, enlarged, bulbous breasts are now bouncing about like beach balls at a pool party. (Must remember to ask Jude and Shazzer if they fancy going shopping after work.)

"Ah, Miss Jones. How kind of you to join us today," he said sarcastically, waving me into his office.

"Sorry I'm late, I was…"

"Screw it Jones. I've got more important things to discuss with you. Sit." What am I, a dog? Why don't you play dead, Richard Finch! "So I'm sure you've done some research by now and are ready to get started, right?" He looked at me hopefully.

"Of course. I've looked over those websites you sent me and I'm ready to get started." Guess I seemed a bit too confident and perky.

"Brrriiidggguuuttt! You haven't done a damn thing yet, have you? I don't know for the life of me why I don't fire you!" He slammed the half-eaten Egg McMuffin that was in his hand down onto the desk causing congealed egg-like bits to scatter all over the papers in front of him and on computer screen. Gah! If depression or violent morning sickness doesn't kill me, Richard Finch will.

"I'm sorry. I've had other things going on and…" Could feel tears starting to well up.

"I don't care. Just get you're arse out there and sign yourself up on at least 5 of those services and make sure you read the email that I sent you first!" I hurried out of the chair and toward the door. "Oh and I want a preliminary report on my desk before you leave today." Right.

**11:20am** Oh bugger! Bugger! Am a perpetually nauseous, emotional basket case and have a ton of work to do. Will just nibble on some crackers and pork rinds while reading Richard's email.

**11:22am** Feel overwhelming need to knit a jumper for everyone in the office RIGHT NOW…or gouge self's eyes out with knitting needles.

**11:30am**

From: RFinch

To: BJones CC: DCleaver

Re: Dating Guidelines

1. Sit Up Britain will pay for 5 internet dating services not to exceed 1 month. Sign up for free ones also.

2. Do NOT, under any circumstances, tell anyone where you live or work (unless you wish to possibly be robbed, raped, kidnapped, or beaten and left for dead).

3. When meeting clients, always wear a disguise and never use your real name.

4. Try to use common sense. You may find it refreshing.

5. Check in with Daniel Cleaver during and at the conclusion of every "date" so that he knows you are safe and have arrived home in one piece.

6. A WRITTEN presentation will be due at the end of each week reporting your findings. (Yes, there is actual work involved.)

7. Do NOT let your boyfriend interfere in this project!

8. Most importantly, don't fuck it up!

**11:38am** There's that word "clients" again in #3. Makes self sound like a common prostitute…oh God! And Daniel Cleaver and Richard Finch are my pimps.

**11:40am **Why did Finch have to send those humiliating guidelines to Daniel also? Have feeling they are both out to get me. Easy target. Wish Mark would beat them up and bury them in the snow like he did Peter. Put his picture that was still on my desk into a drawer. Can't have him watching me while I pretend to date other men.

**11:42am** Not feeling confident about this after all,…raped…dead…disguise…in one piece. Amendment to previous diary entry: If depression, violent morning sickness, or Richard Finch doesn't kill me,…a deranged lunatic will. Gaahhh!

**12:30pm **Have now signed up for 1 month with 2 services. New name is Brandy. (Chardonnay was first choice, but seemed too tartish.) Created a profile for each describing self. Was supposed to be truthful, but the honest approach would not likely generate much interest: Chunky, neurotic, pregnant, suicidally depressed woman seeks intelligent Adonis for possible fake relationship. Yes...What man could resist such an invitation?

While I was working on my profiles, Daniel popped his head in to my cubie to say hello. "Daniel, how would you describe me?"

"Excuse me?" His interest must have been piqued, because he came in and parked his gorgeous bum on the edge of my desk.

"What is it that once attracted you to me? I'm trying to complete my dating profiles and I want it to look good, even if I have to lie."

"Bridge, you don't have to lie. Just say exactly what you are…an attractive, slightly overweight 35 year old woman…great sense of humor, independent, charmingly quirky…hmm, lets see, big tits, and a lioness in the sack." Had no idea that Daniel Cleaver saw me in that way, except the last two, and could rattle it off so quickly at that. He rarely complimented me when we were going out, unless it was about an exceptionally fantastic shag that we had just had. Couldn't help but to smile. Really needed that today. "Why did you ask me? Why not Darcy? He must tell you how wonderful you are all the time. You have some crazy spell over him. It's a bit sickening if you ask me."

Tried to fight it, but the mention of Mark's supposed feelings for me sparked spontaneous gushing tears. Became a ridiculous, blubbering fool. Daniel stood up looking dumbfounded and shoved the tissue box from my desk into my face. "We broke up," I said softly, after finally getting a hold of my senses.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I nodded in confirmation. "Well I hope it's because you finally realized once and for all what a boring arse he really is and that marrying him would have been like a self-inflicted life-sentence in purgatory."

Hesitated telling him the reason for the split, but since we were being totally honest…"Actually he cheated on me." Thought Daniel's head was going to spin right off of his neck and float around the room as if I had just pulled the rip cord on a child's gyroscope.

"Now you're screwing with me, aren't you?" He chuckled a bit, but I made no effort to reveal a punch line. "I've got to be honest with you Bridge, I can't stand the guy and I definitely think he's all wrong for you, but it seems hard to believe that he would do something like that, considering his past…our past relationship with Loni." Had never heard Daniel mention Mark's ex-wife by name before. Had my doubts as to whether he even actually knew it.

"So I guess that makes #7 much easier," he announced as he exited the cubicle.

"Good grief, he's got that email memorized."

**2:00pm Caffé Nero **Rang Jude and Shaz and told them to meet me at Caffé Nero in Kensington for a quick bite and an espresso. "Why did you want to eat here Bridge? What's wrong with the usual?"

Quickly scanned the room and then shrugged it off. "Time for a change I guess and besides that, Mark told me that this place supports the Oxfam 'Make Trade Fair' philosophy. We should support and respect the coffee bean farmers, you know."

"Mark says? Bridge, you're not with Mark anymore. You don't have to support his weird causes. Who cares about coffee farmers in South America," Jude complained, rolling her eyes. "He is still a Tory, isn't he?…Oh never mind, doesn't matter."

"I don't think it's weird at all. It's very important."

"Yeah sure, whatever Mark says, right?" Great. Best friends don't respect the fact that I might just have an opinion different from their own and that I can think for myself.

So, told them about my compulsion to call Mark every 5 minutes and explain that all was forgiven. Really thought they were going to pelt me with their almond croissants, but instead the girls said they had two surprises for me that would help with my unhealthy appetite for self-destruction. They looked at each other giddily. Sure hope it's something good. Could really use something good. The last time they said that they had a surprise for me, it was a trip to a day spa where I ended up battered and bruised from the burly masseuse and then left with a rather itchy and unattractive skin rash from the seaweed wrap that lasted 3 days .

"First of all, we've got a new book for you_, It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken The Smart Girl's Breakup Buddy_. We can study it together in the evenings…which leads us to the next surprise," Jude said excitedly.

"I'm going to come stay with you for a while…until you come to grips with that horrible Mark Darcy finally being out of your life!" Shazzer jumped in with an exaggerated grin. "The nights are the worst time to be alone, so I'll be your break-up buddy. Simon and I are finished, for good this time, the rotten pig! We can get through it together." She didn't seem nearly as miserable.

Didn't know just what to say. Not sure that Sharon, in all honesty, was the best person for the job. Sort of like sending an arsonist into a burning building to extinguish a fire. "Mark Darcy is not horrible and will never be out of my life because he is my baby's father," I announced resentfully. "But besides that, I don't want to be a burden. I'll be fine." Had serious doubts about whether I would be, but that was my feeble attempt anyway to dissuade the headstrong Shazzer from, without meaning to, making life even more stressful. Love her dearly, but will likely be similar to cohabitating with Edina from Absolutely Fabulous.

"Nonsense. No fucking burden at all. I'll bring a bag or two over this evening. We'll have so much fun. You won't even have time to think about Mark Darcy pawing away at that fucking evil Rebecca Gillis." Ugh! Am going to need even more therapy after Shazzer leaves!

Leaving the café, passed Giles and Nigel from Mark's office as they were coming in. Looked around, searching for Mark. Perhaps still parking the car. No Mark. Why wasn't he there with Giles and Nigel? They always go there for lunch unless dining with clients, in which case they go someplace more fancy. Probably dining with Rebecca at some romantic, clandestined location, sipping wine with their arms intertwined (why didn't we ever do that?), or maybe they have gone back to his house for a kinky matinee (we have done that). Fought off overwhelming urge to grab Giles by the lapels of his suit jacket and plead with him to tell me how Mark was doing…what he was doing…and who he was doing it with. Instead maintained self respect and walked past them with a polite nod of acknowledgement. They offered no information…which likely means Mark's whereabouts were none of my business. Oh DOOM!

**3:30pm Sit Up Britain office **Found failed premeditated coincidental meeting not to be therapeutic at all. Shouldn't have done it. Now more depressed than before. He's already moved on. Pulled locket from inside top. Held it tightly and began to cry.

**5:50pm** Finally finished up report for Richard. Have signed up for 7 different dating services, two of them free. Now have to wait for matches. Wonder what kind of men will want to meet me. Must admit…this part of the assignment will be kind of exciting. Am supposed to be finding out how common is it for people lie about themselves, how safe is it to meet people in this manner, and why do they do it in the first place.

**6:05pm** Oh good. Daniel has graciously volunteered to come round tomorrow evening to properly show me how to do this cyber-dating thing from home. V. sweet and helpful. Maybe should reciprocate the favor by cooking supper for the two of us…and Shaz of course. Lovely to have such lovely helpful friends in times of need…even when they are friends of the most disastrous kind.

**7:30pm **Went to M&S with Jude in search of bras to accommodate new fuller bosom while Shaz popped off to fill a holdall or two for our indefinite slumber party. While sifting through the racks heard familiar sounds of a two-faced, man pinching whore coming up behind. Turned to meet the snooty gaze of Rebecca Gillis!

"Hello Bridget. I'm glad to see you. I need your opinion. Do you think Mark will like these?" She was holding a lacy black thong and matching corset.

Shortly thereafter was escorted forcefully from the shop by a uniformed guard.

**11:30pm **"I can't believe you hit her! That's fucking brilliant!" Shaz lauded, as we made up the new futon purchased to go in new office/2nd bedroom that was finally finished along with the terrace. Of course Jude and I are no longer welcome in Marks and Spencer, at least for the next 6 months anyway. It was strongly suggested by security that I take a course in anger management in the meantime. Playing little Miss Innocent to the third guard who helped her out of the discount panty bin, could hear her ranting something about people having no class. Gah!

**11:45pm **Shaz just went back to her room after telling me a rather colorful "To Hell with Mark Darcy and Rebecca Gillis" bedtime story. Maybe she's right. V. confused.

**11:47pm **No calls or email from Mark in 2 days. He clearly never loved me as much as he said he did. Took engagement ring off, put it in the drawer, and swallowed the last of my peanut butter sandwich and milk.


	13. Chapter 13 The Best Laid Plans

Note: Though BJD and EOR actually were written a decade ago, some events in this fanfic may refer to more recent events. Disregard this time lapse as if there wasn't one. The actual years are irrelevant.

Reference: It's Called a Breakup Because it Is Broken written by Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt (2005)

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XIII

The Best Laid Plans…

_Weight: 9st; Microscopic babies resembling a veggie platter: 1; Self-Help techniques ignored: 2; Cyber dates: 0; Minutes thought about shagging: 120 (at least a full 2 hours all together) ; Minutes spent listening to others shagging: 5; Actual shag participation: 0_

**Friday January 4**

**9:10am** How is it that so called best friend can have so little faith in self? "Don't you dare rebound with Daniel Cleaver! Haven't you started reading that book Jude and I gave you?" Shaz shouted over breakfast of porridge and bacon. Actually just the smell of bacon was triggering gag reflex, but didn't want to hurt her feelings for going through the trouble of fixing it for me. If not for her, I'd still be lying in bed trapped under the heaviness of my own heart. "That's #1 of the rebound rules: Don't screw anyone who compromises your job or makes going to work uncomfortable. Hell, you remember what happened the last time?"

"Yes, but I have absolutely no intention of shagging Daniel. He is coming over to help me with the computer."

"Yeah, and then to help you right out of your clothes. Bridget, is he or is he not attracted to you?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"And are you or are you not still attracted to him on some level despite your inexplicable obsession with Mark Darcy?"

"Well…yes, but…"

"But nothing. So there is always still the chance that the two of you might just fall into bed like dogs if he pours on enough phony charm."

"I would do no such thing! I have more self-respect than that." I do, don't I? "Not that I want to, but sex is definitely out of the question anyway. I'm pregnant, remember?"

"Bridget Jones, honestly! What in bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Well, I certainly don't want my baby's head to come out with any awkward to explain indentations." Oh, will have to avoid "Mechanical Mark" for similar reason, especially when embryonic-sized baby gets larger. Bugger! Bad enough that baby will likely spring from womb shouting "Fuck" if continue to live with Shaz for too long.

"That's fucking ridiculous! A lot of women say sex is even better during pregnancy. Just wait until your 2nd trimester, you'll be positively horny!"

"Really!" Hmm.

"So anyway Bridget, Daniel has invited himself over to your flat, where he thinks you will be alone I might add, on a Friday night…to work? Does that sound like any Daniel Cleaver you know?" Had not really thought of all that. Perhaps Shaz is right. Is this just another clever scheme of Daniel's? Well it won't work! I'm much too in love with Mark Darcy (even though I hate him!) to even think about getting off with another man, especially the likes of wily Daniel Cleaver. Though he was quite charming and polite yesterday.

**10:15am** **Sit Up Britain office **"Word around town is that you punched a society girl in Marks and Spencer yesterday in the lingerie department." He announced with an overly salacious grin, as if imagining at that moment Rebecca and me thrashing about in mud-covered bikinis. "Very sexy Jones. You learn that from Darcy?"

"Wot? How did you hear…?"

"It's in today's paper. Here take a look…page 4." Snatched the paper from his hand and saw a rather unflattering, splotchy-faced picture of self being restrained by a burly guard while a pair of Mark Jacobs pumps flapped upside down of a headless body flailing in the lingerie bin. Then read the headline: "Sit Up Britain Personality, Bridget Jones, Fiancé of Prominent Human Rights Attorney, Mark Darcy, Assaults Department Store Patron"

"Oh shit!" Sank heavily into rolly chair. Am really screwed. How the hell did someone get a snap of that?

"I can see that you need to be alone." Knew he was trying to conceal a mocking chuckle. Evil bastard. He popped back into my cubie two seconds later. "I almost forgot Jones, how does 8:00 sound? I'll bring a bottle of wine, you can fix us a nice supper, and then…"

"…you'll help me with my research." Maybe Shaz was right. Just told him about Mark and me yesterday. The wound is still fresh and already the jackal is slinking in. At least Shaz will be there. Ugh! Can't worry about any of that right now though, as am having a nervous breakdown. What are the chances that Mark won't read the paper today and that Rebecca will keep her mouth shut? Right. V. bad.

**11:40am **Back at desk after long-winded beratement from Richard for self's actions in M&S yesterday. Said I could have bloody well jeopardized the whole undercover project. "Now every sod from Bath to Norwich knows your face if they didn't already!" he complained. (Not one single word to ask if I was alright or to ask if the attack had been provoked…which it was. Thanks for asking you selfish prick!) Needless to say, thanks to Rebecca's account of the "horrific" attack, the one-sided article has painted me as some sort of unstable lunatic who had been off medication for too long. As a result of said article, self has now been put on probation. What difference does it make really. Finch threatens to fire me, Johnson, Patchouli, the newbie who delivers the interoffice post, or practically anyone else who crosses his path every other day anyway for incompetence, insubordination, or because his coffee's too hot, thereby causing him to burn his stupid tongue. So now have not been asked, but ordered to get a makeover, stopping just short of getting facial reconstruction surgery in order to change my appearance. "Change your hair, eyes, wear more makeup…Do you have a skirt that covers your arse? Wear it!" Looked at skirt was currently wearing then back at Richard who was eyeing my thighs like they were two plump Polish sausages hot off the rotisserie. "I guess it would be too much to ask of you to change you personality as well, eh?" Bloody bastard!

Note to self: This weekend transform self into new woman so will not be recognized by "every sod from Bath to Norwich".

**11:55am **Not one single match or email from any of the 7 dating services. V. depressed. Cannot even pay someone to want to date me (faithfully).

**12:40pm **Feeling a bit nauseous and so when Jude called and asked if I wanted to meet somewhere for lunch, I declined. Opted instead to stay in cubicle and nibble on celery sticks and read a bit. Recently bought a new book explaining pregnancy week by week. Says that baby is almost the size of the head of a pin. V. tiny, but would be visible if not in self's body. Hurrah! Embryo is growing into a fetus. Picture in book showed what "she" looks like. A group of cells really…but actually looks like an arrangement of cucumber slices. Tore page out and tacked it to cubie wall. First baby picture! Goody!

**12:50pm** Oh, perhaps Shaz is right! Could not possibly dent baby yet as is much, much too small.

**3:10pm** Was just finishing up secondary research project on the effects of global warming on polar bears. Apparently it causes hermaphroditism. V. strange. Mobile began to blare "I Will Survive" (Shaz's idea…motivational reminder.) Was Mark! His tone was very cool and distant, but always lovely to hear his deep, sensuous, "2 a.m. after a sweaty shag" voice. Hmmm "Bridget, I need to pick up my clothes from your flat. Is it alright if I come round at about 6:30 this evening?" Somehow thought that when I finally heard from him again, he'd be a bit friendlier, less haughty sounding. Did he even say hello? Maybe he's in the same room as someone important like Nigerian president Obasanjo, Prime Minister Blair, or similar and doesn't want to be overheard making slobbering confessions of regret over imprudent behavior with slinky junior law partner. After all, he is v. important and must keep up top-notch appearances. Right.

Tried to sound equally as detached. "Sure, that will be fine." Will need to cancel plans with Jude for drinks (milk or juice for me, of course) before Daniel comes round at 8:00. Or should I? Maybe it's best if I was not there. Too painful. Can just put all of his things in a box. He still has a key after all. No, need to see him...But wait,_ It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken_ clearly states that couples that break up should not see each other for at least 90 days for any reason as part of the healing process. The authors also state that ex-boyfriend's belongings should be boxed up and either a) tossed in rubbish bin (if not valuable, such as boring law magazines) b) taken to him by someone else or left on doorstep (i.e. his suits) or c) kept if was a gift that I no longer feel he is worthy of (i.e. the watch I gave him for Christmas). Self-Help authors are v. wise. But…

Want to see him…miss him v. much. He has been punished for long enough, as have I. Maybe should tell him about his impending fatherhood tonight. ?

Yes! Definitely will tell him tonight.

**4:15pm **About to leave work early claiming to have terrible headache, but really just needed extra time to prepare for Mark. Have decided to pretend that self has a date tonight and am cooking dinner for someone v. special. He will undoubtedly be quite jealous and sad at which time self will explain that I don't really have a date and that I forgive him. After that, I will tell him about our baby and then we will have a celebratory shag marathon…after telling Daniel and Shaz to get lost, of course. Shaz and Jude will be angry, but don't care, as is much more important to raise offspring in traditional loving nuclear family than to appease untraditional vengeful urban family.

Hurrah! Must admit, am v. clever. If all goes as planned, self will be happily engaged, expectant mother by this time tomorrow.

**4:40pm **Parked the car in front of flat and then dashed over to Portobello in hopes of finding a fresh delivery of spinach and fruit for dinner. Was thinking maybe could whip up Spinach Soufflé…on second thought, maybe a bit too ambitious for self's limited culinary skills despite festive holiday pudding triumph a few weeks ago.

Nonsense, am master of my domain and soufflé will be a piece of cake, but still awaiting that call regarding self's own television cooking programme.

Back in flat, couldn't believe it! Strange wild boar noises coming from 2nd bedroom…Shaz's room. Shaz should be at work though. Knew that it would be, in fact, highly unlikely that a wild boar would be wandering the streets of London. Not possible, right? And would have to have opposable thumbs to open doors…assuming said wild boar would want to seek refuge or root for truffles in self's flat rather than say, the more logical Hyde Park. Grabbed fireplace poker and then swung open Shazzer's door.

Really should have recognized familiar sounds. Had not been that long since… Was not a pig at all…not of the four-legged variety anyhow. Apparently Simon and Shaz have made up yet again. "Sorry Bridget," they both said as they scurried out the front door, giggling like a couple of mischievous school children caught by the headmaster smoking in the stairwell. Why didn't they just go to _her_ flat? Ugh!

If not for plan to win Mark back tonight, that little episode would have set self back to lying face down in bed in a puddle of drool and cracker crumbs for sure.

**5:50pm **Slipped into a clingy lavender sheath dress, tights, and low pumps. Pulled hair back into a ponytail with teased bangs. v.g.

**6:15pm **Ok…Mark should be here soon. Nervous. Have definitely decided to forgive him for the drunken indiscretion with insipid she-devil and tell him about baby. Am confident of this decision.

**6:23pm **Right. Now wearing mauve floaty dress with coordinating kitten heels. Not as short or tight…less whorish.

**6:35pm **Still not here. Not like the always-punctual Mark Darcy to be late. Hope he wasn't in a car crash…or being held hostage in bank heist...or worse, shagging Rebecca atop his desk. Said he didn't want her but the temptation likely became too great with having to see her at work everyday. May require more than just forgiveness to get him back. Will now have to _win_ him back with charm and beauty as well. Bugger!

**6:40pm** Plum-colored cocktail dress with just a tease of the pink teddy that Mark gave me for Christmas showing at breasts . Hopefully sexy appearance will ensure romantic reunion embrace with father of self's baby.

**6:50pm** Who am I kidding? I'll never be as beautiful as Rebecca Gillis. Shoved spinach soufflé into the oven in disgust.

**7:00pm** Gah! Still not here! Where the hell is he? Daniel will be here in 1 hour. Don't want him to think am dressed up in crippling stilettos, with hair in French twist for him.

**7:05pm** Mark has stood me up! I can't believe it! Where is…Oh, Entryphone! Buzzed door open. He's on his way up.

**11:45pm **"Daniel Cleaver! What are you doing here?"

Ignoring my question, "Heelllooo Mummy!" Could actually see him licking his lips as he looked me top to bottom and back again, objectifying me as if was an oversized chocolate bar. "Bridge, you said this wasn't a date. You look bloody fantastic!" He handed me a bottle of my long lost friend Chardonnay.

"Oh don't be ridiculous. This isn't for you. You are early and Mark is coming over. Now get out of here and don't come back until I ring you." He was halfway out of his snow-dusted overcoat, but I countered his action by putting it back on his shoulders. "And if I _don't_ ring you at all, don't come back." Handed the bottle back to him.

"But Bridge, what about dinner? I smell something…" My hands were on his back shoving him out the door. Oh, entryphone! Shiiiiiiittttttt!

"This is not happening!" Stumbled back up to the phone. Was Mark. "Just a minute please." Staggered back to Daniel, pulling him back through the door.

"Make up you mind Bridget," he chuckled, obviously enjoying my predicament.

"Go up to the terrace Daniel!" He didn't move. "Go! Go! GO!" I shrieked, pointing to the stairs. He rolled his eyes and headed for the stairs. "Now listen Daniel, wait up there until you hear the door close. I'm going to take Mark into the bedroom and…"

"Ooo Bridge, can I watch?" Ugh!

"AND that's you're signal to come down and get the hell out of here! Do you understand?" Often many of the same techniques used on a small child work equally as well with Daniel Cleaver. Have him look you in the eye and repeat back what he is to do.

"How can you forgive him but not me for the same offense?"

My voice sobered as we held eye contact. "I love him Daniel. And I know that he loves me. Please. This is very important to me."

The phone buzzed again. Daniel's expression actually turned thoughtful and he smiled slightly. Then he turned and headed up onto the terrace without another word.

Mark was looking handsomely irresistible as always in the dark moleskin trousers I had given him for Christmas and solid blue jumper with overcoat and scarf, unusually casual attire for work. He looked at me and then briefly around the flat as if reminiscing a bit, then back to me. "You look well," he said rather curtly with an air of formality, as if I was some casual acquaintance rather than someone that he had shagged like a million times. I look well? That's all he can say? There I stood dressed to the nines with my underwear hanging out and that's it? How am I supposed to tell him I have a date if he doesn't make a comment about my dress?

He stood stiffly near the door holding what appeared to be two empty sports bags and a garment bag. He made no action to remove his coat.

"So do you." Such a far cry from the way things used to be…last week, rushing into each others arms as if we hadn't seen each other in weeks rather than hours, devouring each other with kisses.

Couldn't help myself but to look at him hopefully, but saw very little hope in his manner or expression. Was difficult to think of anything to say. "So how is work?" My pathetic attempt to start a conversation. Already the plan had gone off course.

"Actually, I haven't gone back to work yet. Peter and I went to the Arsenal/Manchester United match yesterday at Highbury. Did you hear? It was a draw." At least talking about football made him a bit more animated. Not that I really cared about what he was talking about though. "At least that puts Manchester further from the Premiership…blah, blah, blah." Can only imagine Peter Darcy's reaction when he found out that Mark and I had broken up. Likely maniacally jumped up and down on priceless Darcy family heirloom sofa in manner of Tom Cruise on Oprah chat show.

So I had been pining away, blubbering like a whale, and throwing up everything I put in my mouth, smelled, or stood in the same room with, because of _his_ demon seed I might add, and he's been "playing"! Why hasn't he been pining for me? Why are men so different from women in that respect?

Gah! Suddenly smelled burning and remembered soufflé. Sprinted to the kitchen but was twenty minutes too late. Mark came up behind me and we both silently stared down at the dark brown, sunken glob of rubbish. "I guess that clinches it. I'll never get that cooking programme now." Tried to make a joke to lighten the dismal mood, but it fell on deaf ears. Could feel his smoldering gaze on me, but when I turned from the cooker toward him, he diverted his eyes. Inhaled deeply to summon courage. "Mark, I'm glad you're here. There's something important that I need to tell you." Stepped closer and placed my hands on his chest and felt an electric charge from the reconnection…or perhaps it was the jolt from him jumping three feet back.

"We need to talk," he said sullenly, still not looking at me, but now at his shoes. "Bridget…" His brow furrowed with anguish.

"Sorry Bridge. It's too bloody cold up there and I got tired of waiting for the signal." Daniel bounded down the steps and presumptuously plopped himself onto the sofa. "Hey! How's it going Darce?"

"What the hell is he doing here!" Mark glared from one to the other of us with contempt. I opened my mouth to explain but Mark interrupted. "You know, it doesn't matter. What you do with your life is your own business. If you want to fuck around with a jackarse like Cleaver again, don't let me stop you!" He stalked off into the bedroom. Damn you, Daniel Cleaver!

"Mark, he's just here to work on a project that we are doing for Richard Finch" Followed him into the bedroom where he was already furiously snatching handfuls of hangers from the wardrobe and slamming them into a pile on the bed.

"So _now_ you go into the bedroom," Daniel interjected snidely from the other room.

"Go home Daniel!"

"No…he can stay. I'm leaving as soon as I get my clothes," Mark announced coldly.

"But it's not what you think Mark!" Tried to reach for him, but he shrunk quickly, avoiding my touch.

I don't care anymore Bridget. I don't even want to know." His voice was lower now, but still harsh and unyielding.

"You're not even going to listen to me?" I spat back.

"Why should I Bridget? You never let _me_ defend myself when the shoe's on the other foot. Hurtful isn't it?" Mark looked up from trying to stuff an armful of his nicely pressed jackets and dress shirts into one of the sports holdalls instead of the still empty garment bag, wrinkling them terribly. "Oh and by the way, I know all about the spectacle you made of yourself in Mark's and Spencer!"

"I can explain that too."

"I guess I know why you did it, but why there?…Why did you have to hit her?" I really snapped after that.

"Don't you dare turn this around on me! She taunted me…but I don't suppose she told you that, did she?" Mark ducked into the loo to retrieve a few things. "I wouldn't be surprised if that skinny little witch hired that paparazzo to be there when she picked the fight with me!"

His words had been so angry, but would have sworn by the look in his ever-poetic eyes that he believed what I was telling him. So I thought anyway. "Even still, why didn't you consider the repercussions before doing something so utterly reckless and immature? Now everyone thinks I am engaged to a lunatic."

"This is all about you, isn't it? It's always going to come back to being about you and your precious reputation! Never mind that she started it, it's I that has embarrassed you. I guess that's just who I am, reckless and immature!"

"There may have been some truth in what my brother said after all. We're just too different. It will never work. We'd only bring each other down."

"You mean _I'd _bring _you_ down! You were so convincing all of those times you told me that you loved me for who I am. But then again, I guess sounding convincing even when you don't mean it is one of the reasons why you are such a brilliant lawyer. Tell me Mark, how is it that in just a few short days, you suddenly think you are too good for me? How can that be? Tell me dammit! How can that be!" Wasn't sure whether to throw him or myself out of the third story window. Was teetering between sadness and rage. "Is she really that worth it?"

He acted as if he didn't know what to say and made a feeble placatory gesture while looking at the floor. The nerve!…and can't even be a man and look me in the eye. Went to the bedside table and pulled out the ring. Restrained myself from throwing it at him. "Here take it! I want it out of my flat! It's just a reminder of what a selfish, arrogant, lying bastard you are and always will be! I hate you Mark Darcy!" Tears were stinging my eyes so much that I could no longer see him clearly though he was just 5 feet in front of me.

"Good-bye Bridget." Could see his blurry shape pick up the bags and leave the room. Shortly thereafter heard his muffled voice followed by the door latching quietly.

Came out of the bedroom to see Daniel standing in the center of the room. "It's for the best Bridget." He extended his arms as an invitation. "Mark Darcy will never be anything but an egotistical wanker. It's finally time you realized that."

Wrapped my arms around him and held tightly. "What did he say to you just now?"

There was hesitation at first as his cheek came to rest on the top of my head. "He told me to take care of you."


	14. Chapter 14 Babies and ExLovers

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XIV

Babies and Ex-Lovers

_Weight: 9st 2; Cigarettes: 3 (I think)(Doom); Alcohol Units: 4 (Doom!); Miscarriages: 0; Lift encounters: 1; Shocking turns of events: 1_

**Saturday January 5**

**2:05am **Oh bloody hell! Phone…It is an acknowledged truth that any time the phone rings in the dead of night, panic and wild jumping to the worst of conclusions occurs. Someone is dead…someone has been in an accident…or in my case, someone just has senseless friends who are prone to moments of delirium in which drunk-dialing everyone in their mobile directory is a natural end to a night out…followed shortly by passing out cold on the sticky, ale-soaked floor. Know this well, as before self became impregnated by self-absorbed rat-bastard, was just like them. Heard hooting and hollering in the background. Shaz was obviously still at the pub with Simon. She was pretty incoherent, but managed to make out that she had just spotted Daniel…or heard him…or something. Yea, so what?

"Yurrr my bess frin Briiidget…What ever you do, er…don you sweep wif Daaaniel Cleaver. Hees baaaaadddd." There was a loud ruckus and then the sound of Shaz cackling drunkenly. The phone disconnected.

Right. A bit late for such _heartfelt_ advice. If I was going to shag Daniel, I would have already done it. Thanks for being here Sharon. Uggghhh!

**8:20am** Had a dreadful night's sleep…if it could be called sleep. Was more like a series of 10-minute catnaps, at which time repeatedly dreamt of being chased by a pack of Arctic lemmings followed by awakening suddenly and repeatedly in cold, clammy sweat to overwhelming feelings of doom, despair, and regret, just as the lemmings catch up with me at the edge of the dark abyss. Am left teetering on the precipice flailing arms furiously to maintain foothold while the lemmings plummet to their deaths as in the mythical lemming mass suicide, nearly taking me with them. Note to self: Consult _The Dream Directory_ for proper analysis of peculiar nighttime message. 

**9:10am **Shaz never did come in last night. All must have gone well with Slimy Simon. Either that or her face is still stuck to the pub floorHow is it that she cannot see the parallels between Simon and her and Mark and me? Thought she was supposed to be my "break-up buddy". Feeling v. alone and confused. Is 9:15 in the morning too early for Chunky Monkey with a side of barbequed crisps?

**9:25am **Made rather silly mistake of calling Tom in America, forgetting the 8-hour time discrepancy between London and San Francisco. Was not so pleased to hear from me at that particular hour. As luck would not have it, self's best male "girlfriend" was busy entertaining Randy (a very appropriate name, he says. Ugh!), a dancer he had coaxed back to his flat from Club Rendez-Vous where he is now serving drinks and doing the occasional performance of his only hit pop song from the '80s, though it only actually peaked at #42 on the American charts. "Bridget, can this wait until morning?" Tom whined.

"It is morning…here. Please Tom. I really need to talk to someone with an open mind and who is at least somewhat sober." His attitude soon changed as I began to spill the sordid tale of Mark 'I've got a stick up my arse the size of the Eiffel Tower' Darcy. Relieved to know that I, his best friend of twelve years, still rank higher than pole-dancing poof…in most circumstances.

Until today, had really tried to avoid conversation regarding self's current fatherless baby status and as predicted, he was more than a bit insulted that I had not called him straight away with the news of impending motherhood considering how close we had always been. Had delayed telling him mostly because I knew it would likely come as quite a blow to his ego. Was not so long ago that he had wanted so badly to have a baby with me, a child that he so desperately and selfishly wanted to have but could not stomach the thought of going about it in the natural way. One thing can be said for certain about Tom is that he is v. adamant about sticking to the rules of poofdom. #1 rule: No women allowed! Must admit, the thought was exciting at first, but having the blessed moment of conception be with an instrument similar to a turkey baster was far from romantic to say the least and then realizing that self did not really want offspring to have a mummy, a daddy, and a succession of other daddies of questionable backgrounds.

"Bridge,…" Tom began.

"Yes?" I queried, thinking that he was about to say something v. astute.

"The best way to get over a man is to get under another one…as quickly as possible." Heard giggling in the background. "Stop it…just a minute..."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh sorry Bridge…uh, where was I? Oh yes…Mark Darcy is quite dishy, but then again, so is that Daniel chap. There must be some reason why after all this time you keep him around. Hmm? You know, just in case Mr. Fancy Pants doesn't work out." Oh God, is that true? Could I subconsciously be harboring feelings and keeping Daniel on retainer if all else fails?

Thanked Tom for the not so enlightening advice. Told him I'd ring again soon when he wasn't quite so…er, distracted.

**9:45am** It's not as if Daniel and I had sex last night! Instead, he listened patiently as I blubbered on incessantly about Mark in near hysterics. Almost even inadvertently ended up telling him about my pregnancy. He knew entirely more than his share of my personal business already. Was mortified to realize later that while trying to comfort me in his own piggish way of seducing me and thereby manipulating my vulnerability, he regretfully managed successfully to ply me with half of the bottle of Chardonnay that he had brought. I seem to remember smoking a few ciggies as well as the evening progressed. Remember old telly adverts showing tiny fetus holding lit cigarette in one underdeveloped hand and a wine glass in the other. Everything that mummy does, baby does too. Shit! He then couldn't understand why I shouted at him about just sitting there letting me self-destruct.

"Ok then, I won't just sit here. Wash your face and get some sleep Jones…you look like hell." His words were offensive but still he stretched his lean arms around me and kissed my cheek softly. Great. Have wounded his over inflated ego by not succumbing to his advances. And in doing so, had managed to drive both Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver away in a single night's time.

He left abruptly. We never did get around to doing any work on what Daniel had playfully dubbed "Project Big Pants".

**10:00am** Found this morning that Mark had left his key to my flat next to the Fossil watch that I had given him. That clenches it! He definitely doesn't want me anymore. Can't believe that Rebecca could get her vile hooks into him again so easily after repeatedly reassuring me that he had no feelings for her beyond friendship, despite rather large, glaring detail of shagging her just one day after proposing to me.

**2:10pm **Climbed into steaming shower and let the water pelt my face and shoulders, trying to wash away obsessive "Why? Why? Why?" brain-loop. Hopefully, day at the spa tomorrow with the girls will be just what self needs to ease this intense emotional downward spiral. Then looked down and saw that the water pooling my feet was pink. Oh God! What was happening!

Was feeling no pain, but was bleeding! Clothes had been wearing confirmed that this had not just started. No! No! This is my fate! Why did I ever trust Daniel? Should have thrown him out right after Mark left. Will be all his fault if baby dies or has birth defects. Must call the doctor... Bollocks! Dr. Lloyd's answer service announced that he was at Cromwell Hospital today for a OB/GYN conference and would be leaving on holiday tomorrow. Dr. Gray will be available in his absence. Must see him today! Furiously leafed through phone directory for Cromwell Hospital. Good. Not far away, but in nearby Kensington. Called taxi, as was in no condition to drive self.

Scurried to main reception for location of conference and was directed to the 6th floor. Approached second posh reception area staffed by brunette, shiny-haired stick insect in pink scrubs. "I'm looking for Dr. Lloyd…obstetrician!"

Pointing in direction of double doors at the end of the hall, "He's in there, but…Ma'am." Was too late. Had already opened door and burst in to find a sea of smartly dressed men sitting around a large oblong table.

"Uh, er, I'm sorry to disturb your important meeting, but it's very important that I speak with Dr. Lloyd." Looked at him sitting at far end of table staring back at me in wonderment. Others began to murmur quietly to each other.

"Ma'am, this is a private meeting. You will need to make an appointment with your physician for another time," the white-coated knobhead standing at the head of the table holding a pointer announced with irritation. Fancy that pointer up your arse, do you?

Not meaning for my outburst to appear as a ploy for attention but rather suddenly becoming overwhelmed by grief and panic, I began to cry. "I think something is wrong with my baby." With head down, turned and left the room.

"Ms. Jones?" Turned to see Dr. Lloyd approaching. Oh thank God! "Let's find a place where we can talk." He led me into a small exam room at the opposite end of the long corridor. His gentle, grandfatherly hand pushing me along. "Now what seems to be the problem?"

Had only meant to mention the bleeding this morning, but then told him about the slip-up last night, and before I could stop myself in a flurry of tears had told him all about the event progression of the last few weeks.

He listened intently before offering a response. "Dear girl," he began, placing his pruney hand on my shoulder. "Rest assured, the spotting you are experiencing can be perfectly normal in the first trimester. In fact it happens in approximately 1 in 5 pregnancies. It by no means indicates that you are having or are going to have a miscarriage or that anything is abnormal at all. In fact, what is happening, Ms. Jones, is that either the blastocyst (cucumber slices) is burrowing into your uterine lining or, your uterus is growing and the vascular connections that are made as the baby's placenta forms are causing the spotting. Another possible cause is that you are exercising too strenuously. Sometimes intercourse can cause bleeding as well."

"Oh I assure you Dr. Lloyd, I have had enough of that and from this day forward I am definitely eschewing all men. Who needs the lot of them. Men are rubbish!…Oh, except for you, of course. Not that I want to have sex with you or anything. Ugh, Bugger!" Both of our faces turned red.

Dr. Lloyd also assured me that while last night's isolated episode likely caused no damage whatsoever, it is v. important that self stays far away from alcohol and cigarettes, including second-hand smoke which can be just as harmful. Will have to be sure Jude and Shazzer do not smoke in my presence, especially in my flat, and also will definitely need to avoid pubs and restaurants...and all public transportation…and the lounge at Sit Up Britain office…and Bugger! Basically, will have to spend next 8 months sitting alone in self's flat eating raw fruits and vegetables in order to incubate a healthy human being in sterile environment, in manner of Boy In Plastic Bubble, due to toxic urban society.

The ancient but kindly doctor appeared genuinely concerned about me, just as I was genuinely grateful as well as more than a bit concerned as to whether he would still be alive in 8 months to deliver my child. Advised me to get as much rest as possible and handed me a few pamphlets to read before sending me on my way. Thanked him profusely and gave him a giant bear hug. V. nice man.

Engrossed in '20 Ways for Expectant Mothers to Relieve Stress' and feeling reassured, stepped into lift. Wasn't until after the doors closed that I realized that I wasn't alone. Turned to meet the familiar entrancing golden-brown gaze of none other than Mark Darcy. He seemed tired and forlorn, with a small cut above his left eye that I don't recall seeing yesterday, but still those expressive eyes…hmm. Found self envisioning our child looking up at me, arms outstretched, begging to be held, with those same lustrous eyes. Whether because of Dr. Lloyd's reassurance or because of the mountain of unresolved feelings for former fiancé, instinctively wanted to comfort him in spite of myself.

Could so easily just tell him right now that I'm having his baby and because I know how desirous he is to have a family, I'm almost certain that he would take me in his arms and profess his devotion to me without giving another thought to Rebecca Gillis. Surely he would then stop the lift between floors and we would have mad passionate celebratory sex up against the wall in manner of Glenn Close and Michael Douglas in Fatal Attraction.

The reality is, however, that he cannot be trusted with my heart and is an arrogant, elitist arse and would eventually leave me for a refined, equally as haughty stick insect anyway. If not Rebecca, then someone else. And so I must begin again my search for a man who does not embody all of those things that I so loathe about the male species at large. Stealthily eased the pregnancy pamphlets into my handbag.

"Are you well?"

"Of course. Why do you care?" I asked insolently.

"Bridget, just because we can't be together doesn't mean I don't care about your well-being. Who do you think I am?"

"I don't know Mark! I thought I did know who you are. You proved me wrong." There was a catch in my throat. No, am not going to get all worked up. Deep breath. Find calm center. Am model of serenity, not only for self, but also for the health and safety of my unborn child. Turned away to face the closed lift doors.

Lift door opened at the 3rd floor and an older woman stepped in, looking at us both apologetically as if she was interrupting something vital.

"So why are you here?" he uttered softly. Turned again and gave him the frostiest look I could muster.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm here to see my ob…er…obese Aunt Shirley. She's here for, um, stomach bypass surgery." Bollocks am such a disastrous liar.

"I was unaware that you had an Aunt Shirley."

"Well I do. She's dad's sister."

"I thought your father only has two brothers?" Ughhhh! Damn him for being so familiar with my ancestry.

"Well, er, actually she's my dad's sister-in-law."

"But…"

"Look, this conversation is ridiculous. The truth of the matter is, I don't want to talk to you!"

The old woman gasped. "Oh heavens, it so distresses me to see two young people that so obviously care very deeply for one another argue." How could she have detected feelings from that, as if 'Aunt Shirley' is code for I want to throw you on the ground and ravish you?. "Here, please take my card." She handed both of us her business card: _Agnes Hillbaum, Couples Counselor_. Couldn't bare to even look at Mark again, knowing deep down in my heart that she was right. Turned back toward the doors. Damn this is the slowest lift I've ever been in!

Mobile began to sing… "Bridge, you're not going to believe what I just heard! Leslie Collins told Tina Jenkins who told Janey Osbourne who just told me that Daniel Cleaver and Mark Darcy were in a fight last night outside of The Hilgate Pub! That's just around the corner from your flat." I gasped and glanced over at Mark, who was still staring at me. Even thought the lift now held 2 additional passengers, didn't realize until now that his finger was splinted. "Leslie said that she was there and saw Daniel come into the pub, practically drag Mark off of his stool and haul him outside. She also said that Mark appeared to have put up very little of a fight. Daniel was eventually restrained and Mark just walked off down the road. Can you believe that?"

Thanked Jude for the information and told her that I'd see her soon and snapped mobile shut. The doors of the lift opened and as I was stepping out turned to Mark who was stepping out right behind me and said calmly, "What a pity Daniel didn't break your whole arm." Walked away, head held high, feeling v. proud of self.

Cannot believe it. Three times now, the two men in my life (for better or worse) have fought for my honour. Only this time Daniel Cleaver had been the initiator and victor.

Am relieved Daniel didn't hurt Mark too badly actually. The old woman in the lift was right, though I hate him, still very much love him in spite of everything. And still the fact remains, no question about it, he is the father of my baby whether he knows it or not. Though part of me is starting to wish that he wasn't.

**4:15pm **Arrived back at flat with mixed feelings of regret and hopefulness and a flurry of emails: 1 from Finch (Ugh!), 1 from Mum (from Hawaii?), 1 asking if self wants to purchase Viagra from Russians (No, not today!), 2 asking if I'd like to watch XXX videos involving farm animals (Ugh! Definitely not!), and 5…yes 5 from potential male suitors.

Ooooo…Things are looking up. Will rejoin the dating regime as an independent, professional, self-assured, and brunette Singleton.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

--_Actual_ number of floors of Cromwell Hospital is fabricated for story purposes.


	15. Chapter 15 Madam Bridget?

--Many thanks to Kathy for the Mustang Ranch info.

--Sorry I've been so long getting this done…work's been kicking my "arse".

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XV

Madam Bridget?

_Weight: 9st 2; Hopeful emails: 3; Number of extra minutes of rest and relaxation available due to new celibate life: Several; Noisy neighbours: 2 (presumably)_

**Saturday January 5**

**4:30pm** The days ahead will be exciting indeed. Cannot and will not obsess any longer about Mark Darcy. Rather, am going to focus on long overdue blossoming career, enjoy pleasures of detachment from the cruel realities of dating and indulge self under the guise of Brandy Summers, undercover ace journalist, sniffing out parasites and other suave, yet loathsome creatures posing as upstanding citizens in search of love. Hmm? Sounds as if have just described narcissistic ex-boss/lover…and I suppose, friend. After all, Daniel did, in a rather ironic turn of events, gallantly defend my honour by going after Mark for making me feel as if I were a second-rate citizen.

Hope Mark felt at least a fraction of the physical pain that I have felt emotionally from his words.

**4:40pm **Jude and Shazzer will be round any time now to embark on what self hopes to be a relaxing day of pampering. Lovely friends are treating self to a night in posh hotel up in Northampton and then early start at Escape Spa and Salon. Will be meeting with colorist and manicurist to begin transformation from wispy, honey blonde to auburn-haired vixen. Hurrah!

**4:45pm** Right. Had better check those emails. V. exciting to see what sort of man would want to meet me. But first…ugh! Fearing that am now fatherless due to a rather unfortunate starring role in one of Mum's half-baked calamities whereas dad has been sacrificed in the name of love, possibly fatally wounded in a freak hula mishap, trampled or mauled by a herd of feral ungulates in mad search for diminishing Hawaiian vegetation, or inadvertently fell into fiery Mt. Kilauea crater while hiking to exotic locale in effort to achieve "sacred sexual fulfillment", felt compelled to play part of dutiful daughter and open Mum's email first. Why else would she contact me while on her honeymoon?

Email from Mum

_Aloha Darling. Aren't you impressed? Our spiritual advisor, Nilo, has shown me how to send electric post. He is a quite attractive young man, Bridget. I think he rather fancies me as well. I hope Daddy hasn't noticed our flirting. Nilo has repeatedly said that at the conclusion of our spiritual journey, he is going to personally escort us to the airport and see to it that we get on the plane safely. How very thoughtful, don't you think? I do not understand though why your father keeps apologizing to him. _

Poor Dad. Can only imagine what sort of hell he must be enduring. Had lurid vision of Mum preying on 25-year-old pony-tailed beach bum against his will. Dad will likely require a second holiday to recover from the honeymoon. Am glad to hear that he is still among the living, but am not sure how much longer self will be, as am now having urges to hurl self off of the London Bridge. Mum's email got worse.

_I have found the perfect wedding dress for you in a lovely boutique by the beach.! I can't wait to see you in it Darling. I have also posted Una and Elaine. The four of us absolutely must meet for tea the moment Daddy and I return on Wednesday. We will have such a lovely time planning your wedding. Aloha, Mummy_

Elaine! As in Elaine Darcy? Wonder if she already knows. Second only to having actually split from love of self's life, is having to break the news to Mum…and having ex-fiancé's mother there to witness the event. But then again, if she already knows, why would she agree to come...unless she hates me too and wants to punish me.

Should have started with other emails. Bugger!

Men are strange creatures…in what alternate universe must they be living to think that women would be attracted to a man who reveals that he's hung like a gorilla in the first email? Ugh! Take note and DELETE. Second match wasn't much better: "58 year old man looking for sexy woman 21-35 for non-committed fun. Bring a friend if you wish." ABORT! Pervert alert!" Just barely met criteria. Wonder if self would be deemed too old if I told him my birthday was tomorrow…as if women have expiration dates. Grrr… We have enough conflict with our own biological clocks without pricks like him setting stigmatizing guidelines.

Was just about to delete the last 3 in disgust without reading, but realized that this was the point of the assignment. Aside from that, Finch's email was insistent upon an update by Monday, so need something to report.

With 40 million hopeful people turning to the internet for companionship, there must be more pros than cons. Read on, and was surprised to find that the last 3 had real potential. Seemingly normal blokes…an estate agent in Mayfair, lorry driver in Westminster, and chemist in Whitechapel. Decided now was as good a time as any to get started. Sent each an email introducing self but remembering Finch's safety guidelines. So now I will wait…

**5:15pm** Have just been kidnapped by best friends Shazzer, in peculiar zomboid state, likely still recovering from last night's outing, and Jude for a one-night/one-day stay at Escape. Crammed into Jude's car armed with overnight holdalls, laptop, and knitting needles. Mused at the thought that due to eventual gargantuan tummy and existing bowling ball bum, self will be unable to fit into Jude's mini car, or my own for that matter without sounding hooter or becoming wedged by steering wheel, resulting in Automobile Association having to come and extract self from car. Hmm. Will have to look into trading VW for something more suitable for a baby seat or could end up like Britney Spears holding baby Sean Preston in lap while driving. V. bad

**6:45pm** Hotel room is absolutely brilliant! Filled with all creature comforts deserving of someone desperately in need of a break from reality, if only for a night…complete with high-tech electronic devices and pampering fineries. Reminiscent of the places Mark and I would stay while on holiday together actually. A bit posh and expensive for such a brief stay but lovely friends felt I deserved a good night's rest on a bed probably worth more than my entire flat and a soaking tub worthy of a princess…with room enough for a prince to join her.

Came out of loo to find the girls probing contents of the minifridge. "Gaah! Put them back! Hurry! Put it all back!"

"Wha…What?"

"After 20 seconds all of that stuff gets charged to the room account if out of it's slot!"

"Fuck!" Jude and Shaz furiously began replacing the bottles. "How the hell would you know?" Shaz whined realizing that the bottles had been out well past 20 seconds. They were now the proud owners of 15 mini bottles of liquor, 5 bottles of juice, jar of sweets, and can of honey-roasted cashews. All priced 4 times what they would if they had gone to the shop less than a kilometre away.

"Mark and I have been to nice places like this before. That very same cock up ended up costing him over 300 quid."

"See Bridge? You were already becoming smug. Thank goodness you've been spared," Jude announced as she opened a small bottle of tequila that had been inadvertently purchased, tossed half the bottle back in one shot then passed it to Shaz to finish off.

Right. Have been spared from a life of being financially secure and having nice things thereby avoiding any possibility of smugness. Hmph. I just smiled.

**8:00pm** Bloody rotten friends! Am now alone in hotel room. Jude and Shazzer have gone out, taking with them the tiny bottles concealed in their handbags, opting for a night of drinking, smoking, and likely sex, self's three former favorite things…the unholy trinity. Having now traded them in for orange juice, knitting, and celibacy…something that perhaps is out of their realm of understanding.

**8:02pm** Have become a bore to self's friends.

**8:10pm **Don't mind being alone actually. Will have a chance to stretch out across luxurious king-sized bed, watch a bit of telly, and get some uninterrupted "work" done. Brilliant how the internet can afford individuals the freedom to do their jobs without having to bother with combing hair, applying mascara, or similar presentational manner.

Oooo…lucky me! While friends are out with their vile and slimy counterparts, self will have lovely evening in bed with Mr. Darcy. Hmmm. Just so happens that BBC1 is airing rerun of Pride and Prejudice miniseries staring gorgeous Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy, not newer cinematic version with stick insect Keira Knightley and younger, less smoldering Mr. Darcy, Matthew MacFadyen (though not a bad looking man in his own right). Unfortunately cannot fast forward to favorite parts. Must wait approximately 3 hours and 15 minutes for Mr. Darcy to jump into the lake.

Still cannot believe evil, American, rubber-faced Joan Rivers insulted Mr. Firth on the red carpet at the Golden Globes by not realizing that he is in fact the real Mr. Darcy and not the young imitation. Could practically hear women all over England giving collective Grrrr…

**10:15pm **Checked for responses or new matches. No email. Hmph.

**11:00pm **When friends finally reemerged from a short evening out, was sitting cross-legged in center of bed, quietly knitting pink jumper for baby. Though initially thought doctor was mad for suggesting such a matronly hobby, have since realized that it is v. calming and therapeutic in similar manner as yoga or Kabala. Have even discovered that am surprisingly good at it. If it's good enough for Julia Roberts and Madonna, then it's certainly good enough for Bridget Jones.

"Bridge, what makes you so sure that your baby's a girl?" Jude asked, collapsing across the bed next to me.

"Positive thought vibes…If I think it, it will be." I replied confidently. "She just _has_ to be a girl, or else the Darcys will insist I send my child to Eton. And we all know what happens to Darcy males who go to Eton."

"Emotional fuckwittage," Jude and Shaz echoed. A look of quiet seriousness passed between us.

The gravity of the moment passed quickly as the three of us stared intently at the screen as lovely Mr. Darcy dove into the lake, all wishing that when he resurfaces it was us that he just happened upon on the grounds of Pemberley in the wet, white shirt looking so vulnerable yet delicious. Hmmm…

**12:30pm **When staying in a classy hotel, one would expect to be spared from having walls so thin that our neighbour's business involuntarily becomes our own. No such luck. Jude, Shaz, and I were lying in bed trying to sleep when muffled moaning sounds began to resonate through the walls. During the course of an hour, every grunt, giggle, and expletive uttered from the couple next door kept us wondering if we should smoke a cigarette in their honour or cheer them on for a job well done. Nevertheless, sleep was not to be had. Inevitably found thoughts floating to Mark. Wished we had done a sex video in manner of Pam Anderson and Tommy Lee, Colin Farrell and Playboy playmate, or Kid Rock and Scott Stapp…well, maybe not them. Ugh!

"I can't believe I'm never going to have sex with Mark Darcy ever again," I blurted sadly into the finally silent night and then revealed my regret of not recording at least one of our unions.

"With your luck, Bridget, it would somehow end up being broadcast as a Smooth Guide segment with Daniel Cleaver doing commentary," Shaz mumbled with irritation while plumping her pillow.

"You have to admit, it would probably bring in the highest viewership in the programme's history. Also, Daniel might learn a thing or two," I snorted laughing at my own joke.

"Bridget, do yourself a favor…Forget about Mark Darcy and get on with your life."

If only I could do as she said.

**Sunday January 6**

_Embarrassing friends: 2; Lost allies didn't realize self had: 1; Hair debacles 1; Times wished self could have crawled back into bed and started the day over again: Numerous_

**7:45am **Woke Shaz with a start while climbing over her in dash for the loo. "When does that shit stop, Bridget?" she asked with irritation as I elbowed her in the gut.

"How the hell should I know…not soon enough," I answered, reemerging with toothbrush in mouth.

"Will the two of you shut the hell up! I'm trying to sleep," Jude interjected, rolling over, ridiculous looking sleep mask still shading her eyes. "If I wanted to be woken at the crack of dawn I could have stayed home with sodding Richard and his bloody snoring and sinus drip!" Jude. Love her, but such a total hag in the morning.

Was back in the loo when Shaz came up behind me at the washbasin, put her head on my shoulder, and made eye contact through the mirror's reflection. "I'm sorry Bridge if I've been a selfish, mad horror lately. I know things haven't been easy for you. Can you forgive me?"

We hugged and talked over coffee, reminding each other of why we have been best friends for so many years. She talked about Simon a bit and I tried to explain to her all of the reasons why I thought…no, I knew she could do better than him. We talked about the baby scare yesterday and about running into Mark in the lift. She looked at me rather peculiarly.

"What?"

"Why was he at Cromwell Hospital?"

"I would assume to get his finger set and stitches put in his head. Daniel apparently really went after him." By this time Jude was sitting up in bed and listening to the conversation. "The one thing I don't get is why he didn't fight back. He could take Daniel easily."

"Maybe Mark thought he deserved to be beaten by Daniel."

I looked at Shaz quizzically. "But why? That's ridiculous!" They both shrugged, unable to offer any suggestions.

"Like I said last night, and I don't mean to sound cold, but just get on with your life. Who knows, maybe you'll meet someone online." They looked hopeful, but at the same time could tell they were practically bursting at the seams to make a joke. Had never known them to practice restraint when presented with an opportunity at a good ribbing. Actually, v. surprised they did drudge up Wild Boy memories again.

As I stepped out of the shower could hear muffled conversation in the other room. Rounded the corner into the bedroom and the conversation stopped. Was greeted with a group hug and question as to whether I was ready for today. "Of course!" So happy to have reconnected with best friends. We needed this retreat, and now feel positive that everything will be fantastic.

**6:30pm **We strolled confidently through the tall, glass doors of Escape. Soft, calming light filled the cozy reception area. Felt more relaxed already. From there we were led into the locker area to change into dressing gowns and slippers…attire for the day. Left on trousers in light of recent baby events. The three of us giddily waited in the minimalist, Japanese/Fung Shui inspired lounge for our appointments. First were our separate mani/pedi and hair appointments. Then we would meet up later for our massages and facials. Will from this day forward be beautiful swan in manner of 60's siren Audrey Hepburn. Goody!

Decided to go with rich, auburn color. Mum should be pleased for two reasons:

1. She can cease nagging self about overgrown darker roots. Not that am not naturally blonde, however a bit more "dirty" than would have people believe. Shhh…

2. Will give her a chance to pester self about a whole new Color Me Beautiful consult. Ugh!

Thought to self, anything could be better than horrid cut and style self had gotten just before that disastrous law council dinner last year, so gave the colorist/stylist free reign, but did mention a desire for hair extensions to increase exotic aura. Felt v. giddy. Am going to be like gorgeous, scandalous supermodels and actresses in Marie-Claire, Vogue, and Hello.

While was sitting under hair dryer, a cute Vietnamese girl shuffled over and asked in broken English if I was ready for my manicure. Am getting extensions in Aphrodite's Pink Nightie. Hmmm…sounds alluring. While she was massaging my hands and feet we chatted a bit and was amazed to find that her name was Bich, pronounced "Bitch". Likely goes by something like Karen or Linda. Told her that while in prison for attempted drug smuggling, to which she gasped in horror, had met another girl named Bich. What is the likelihood that one would meet two "Bitches" in their lifetime?

Felt more than a bit peculiar when had to call her back over after the treatment because I had forgotten to tip her, as in "Hey Bich. Ineedto pay you." Felt like a tart rewarding sexual favors after a lesbian encounter as others in the room turned around in response to my seeming indiscretion.

Later met back with Jude and Sharon. Waited patiently for our estheticians to apply all manner of hot rose and lavender oils and coriander and jasmine paste masks. Was careful not to do anything that could harm unborn child and so made sure all were botanical extracts. Am going to be a brilliant, conscientious mummy.

Soon found selves slathered in skin cleansing mud and cucumber slices, lying side by side in luxurious recliner type chairs…Jude, Sharon, me, and two other vegetable-eyed women with perfectly manicured mauve toes. We sipped on fancy strawberry smoothies with umbrellas and pineapple slices in mocking smugness with noses in air and pinky finger raised as we talked and detoxified. Not positive, but think that while I was in the loo Jude and Sharon may have gotten a bit creative with their smoothies and the remainder of the tiny bottles from the mini bar.

Jude's pocket began to buzz... Could only hear one side of the conversation, but knew it had to be Tom, as she was talking rather loudly about George Michael (Tom's favorite pop star) being found passed out in his Range Rover and then something about studs. She was practically shouting as to not have to hold mobile directly to mud-soiled face.

"Jude! For fuck sake get off the phone! We are here for moral support of Bridget!" Shaz screeched. One of the mysterious muddy-faced women "shushed" us.

After several minutes, Jude dropped the mobile back into her pocket. "You're not going to believe this...That was Tom…He…he is going to a Mustang ranch."

"Wait, he doesn't ride does he?" I asked naïvely.

"He says he was inspired from watching some American reality programme called Dancing With The Stars on the telly...Drew something or another fannying about to "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy…"

"Well it sounds like a brothel for cowboys if you ask me," Shaz sneered.

"A little too Brokeback Mountain for me. Ugh!" Mud began to drip down my neck.

Jude starts in again, "Now wait, let's not be so quick to dismiss the idea ladies."

"I've heard of the Mustang Ranch actually…wrote an article about it last year…but it was just for women. Simon, that fuckwit, once said that the next time we holiday in the States, we should check it out."

"Well it seems that there's one open for women now…" Jude added.

"Yeehaw!" I exclaimed a little too loudly and the veggie-eyed woman turned her head again and prissily asked us to lower our voices. "So which one would Tom go to?" We all laughed hysterically.

"So what do you think ladies? Mark Darcy and all those other gorgeous, virile, yet miserable, uptight emotional fuckwits would make bloody fantastic fertilizer."

"Fertilizer?"

"You know…their seed. Take their money, raise their children, and place them out to pasture. It's only fair. Don't you think Bridge?"

Unsure what to say at the idea of sending Mark to a stud farm, reducing him to a sperm donor…Simon or Richard perhaps, but not Mark. It's still absolutely unfathomable that anyone else could carry his seed…I stuttered for a response. "So you're saying we could teach the children the sensitivities of the female and single-handedly rid the world of commitment phobics, megalomaniacs, chauvinists, emotional fuckwits, and perverts?"

Jude tossed back the rest of her tainted smoothie. "Exactly!"

"And where do you propose we find all of these men?"

They both thought for a bit then Shaz blurted, "Your internet dating project of course! It's so fucking ridiculous it could just work!"

"Or we could end up raising a lot of poofs!" Jude and Shaz cackled evilly.

"Steady on, you two are making me…er, Brandy Summers sound like a Madam or propagator of male slavery! And besides…"

Didn't finish what I was saying because one of the mystery women shot up and revealed herself as Anastasia Ellsworth-Darcy…exemplar of bad taste in men.

"Bridget Jones! I cannot believe that you could be so cruel!" She was standing now, having removed the cucumbers from her eyes, and was staring daggers at the three of us…mostly me. "Your attitude toward Mark and men in general is deplorable! When I first met you on Christmas at your parent's, I thought you were down-to-earth and refreshing…just what the Darcy family needed. Now I see that you are just a low-class, feminist, man-hating whore!"

"We were just playing ar…" The door slammed. Anastasia and her friend had gone having accused self of being exactly what I had once accused Jude and Shazzer of being…except for the "whore" part.

"Bridge, who cares what she thinks!"

"I do! The Darcys will definitely see me as unfit to raise their heir now." Began to cry.

**7:05pm** Have been cleansed, toned, detoxified, extracted, wrapped, massaged, and waxed…and humiliated.

And beside that, self's hair is beginning to turn green!


	16. Chapter 16 Moving On pt 1

Random notes:

--Thank you for being patient, and thanks also to those of you who emailed me in concern as to whether or not I was going to continue. Lol I'm back. The next few chapters should come faster. And as always, thank you Kathy for your help when I'm banging my head against the computer screen.

--Ch. 16 "Moving On" has two parts. Part 2 coming v. soon.

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XVI

Moving On (Part 1)

**Monday January 7**

_Weight: 9st 5 (Due to cravings, not tiny baby); Divaesque outfits purchased: 6; Baby items purchased: 2; Advice from an ex-Spice Girl: 1; Blog entries written: 0_

**9:45am Sit Up Britain Office **In cubie with lovely but mysterious vase of chrysanthemums sitting on edge of desk, just finished putting finishing touches on report of weekend progress. Can hardly be called work, as it's actually been pretty enjoyable and exhilarating, which are two words that would scarcely be strung together in a statement involving anything to do with overbearing, foul-tempered Richard Finch. Have vowed to self that when this project is finished, am going to start looking for a job with a boss that will treat me as intellectual equal rather than insignificant bottom-feeder. Besides, once am nominated for the BAFTA Television News Coverage award or better yet, the Royal Television Society award for best journalist, will have oodles of offers from top newspapers and television networks.

Incoming interoffice email chime. Goody! Love email…Ugh! Finch. Wants to see me in his office in 10 minutes. As was gathering report together saw Daniel swaggering over from his glass enclosed cage. 

"Morning Jones. Like the flowers?"

"Oh, were those from you? An apology for picking a fight with Mark?"

Was staring at my hair. Better, as is usually ogling my breasts. "Jesus Jones! I thought you'd appreciate that after the way that arsehole treated you?"

"What? Appreciate you hurting the..." Stopped short and shook the thought away. Tried to scoot past but he caught my shoulders and turned me toward him. Our faces inches apart in the doorway…the sexy scent of his aftershave wafting over me. Mmm…such a gorgeous face...and as memory serves, world-class snogger. Could so easily just…no, no, no…snap out of it Jones!

"Come on Jones, you must admit I'm far more sexually appealing than that self-righteous wooden tosser Darcy…surprised he can still get it up after all this time...what do you say Jones?" He inched his face closer yet, teasing me…He twirled a strand of my hair around his index finger. "You always come back…We're too much alike, you and me…"

"I'm nothing like you, Daniel Cleaver. I have self-respect and integrity. You have Relationship ADD, making you completely incapable of maintaining any human relationship beyond a week…or the confines of your bedposts**."** Broke free of his grasp and bolted down the hall toward Finch's office without looking back. 'Moving forward, not back' reminded self. Must look out for my baby and me…and it's doubtful that he's good for either of us.

Sat down in front of Finch's desk, notepad on lap, pen poised in hand ready to take notes being the dedicated, serious journalist that I am…or plan to be from this day forward. Finch was not in yet. Daniel entered, plopping himself down next to me. "What are you doing, stalking me?"

"I was asked to be here. We're working together, remember?" He tried to stroke my shoulder but I brushed him away. "You're so tense, Bridge…Lighten up. Do you not see what Darcy has done to you?"

"I know _exactly_ what Mark Darcy has done to me thank you," I replied coldly. He just laughed, as he usually does when I am angry with him. Though why I am angry with him, I am unsure. He's just the same incorrigible, commitment phobic, self-absorbed Daniel that he's always been and that I have come to accept. Actually, when he used Mark as a human punching bag three nights ago, it wasn't for entirely selfish reasons. I suppose that he does care for me in his own perverse way. In fact, and he would deny this wholeheartedly, but he may even be similar to Mark in more ways than he thinks. There must be some reason why they were former mates at Cambridge. Neither of them it seems, are able to express their emotions appropriately. Mark, however, had at least been making progress. Am an emotion-phobic magnet.

"Bridget Jones! What the hell happened to your hair? You look like the Loch Ness Monster in drag! I thought I told you to wear something to cover your arse!" Finch squawked scornfully, entering the room. Ah, yes. Can always count on Richard Finch for healthy words of affirmation to make a person feel good about one's self. How does he know that wasn't precisely the look I was going for this morning?

"Minor setback at the salon. And as for the…"

He leaned in; close enough to smell the putrid mixture of coffee and Egg McMuffin on his breath, glaring directly into my eyes, slowly enunciating each word. "Fix it or you're fired!" Caught a not so surreptitious glance in Daniel's direction as he withdrew. "Now then Miss Jones…"

Have been instructed to keep a log of self's activities…a blog. Daniel is setting it up. Good news is will be able to leave the office at lunchtime every day for the next two months to allow for more time out "in the field". Also will be able to work from home, fax in reports every Friday afternoon and do what I already do…write in a journal. Only difference is, will be typing…on the internet for the world to see. Will be in somewhat similar manner as Carrie Bradshaw of Sex and the City, except am not paid columnist writing about self's lovelorn life in New York City, but rather olive-haired, lovelorn Singleton musing about self's life in…Wait a minute…

**10:30am** Have been ordered to spend remainder of day shopping and getting hair redone. Hurrah! Daniel has offered to pay for everything if I agree to have dinner with him tomorrow night to debut the "new" Bridget. No harm in dinner between two work colleagues.

Will just ring Jude and Shaz at work and see if they are suddenly "feeling ill". Much more fun to shop with friends.

**5:30pm **"Are you pregnant, Ma'am?" Stylist asked, running a comb slowly through my kelp-colored locks.

"Oh! Is it my natural healthy glow?" I beamed proudly.

"Not exactly," he replied, sighing heavily. "It's the _un_natural color of your hair." He took my hand and led me to the sink for a wash and condition. "Didn't your doctor tell you that pregnant women should _never_ color their hair in their first trimester? With your hormones raging, there's no telling what color your hair could have ended up." I gasped. "You were lucky. I corrected a woman's hair just last week that was practically glowing purple."

"Rubbish!" Shaz barked, withdrawing her nose from the magazine she was scanning in the waiting area. "Personally, I think that hair dye scare is all part of the male-dominated medical profession's conspiracy to enslave women. Make us root-bound, earthy and as unattractive as possible so that no man could possibly find us attractive. If they could tell us it was safer to be barefoot during pregnancy they'd do that as well." That's Shazzer, feminist know-it-all that she is with a commentary for every occasion. This particular outburst likely stemming from a tryst she had with her former gynecologist 3 years ago. Ugh! Can't imagine having a relationship with self's gynecologist. He's already seen you naked, where's the mystery?

Two and a half hours and 100 pounds later, Shaz, Jude, and I left the salon, hair having been tamed and coifed from alien to alluring auburn "Confessions on the Dance Floor"-style retro-flip. Then spent rest of afternoon ducking in and out of Oxford and Bond Street shops. Shaz and Jude circling like vultures, sometimes offering v. scathing and uncomfortable criticism and making crude comments about, as well as manhandling in non-sexual manner, my rather tender and plentiful D-cup "tits" with each outfit tried on in manner of Trini and Susannah from What Not to Wear. In the end, all was fantastic. Came away with six new couture outfits, all charged to Daniel Cleaver's credit card, each outfit following guidelines of nothing mid-thigh, too tight, or transparent. Had no idea friends found self to be such a fashion victim.

"Bridget! Bridget!" Jude was yanking on my arm, causing me to lose hold of bags, as she pointed. "Look!…Is that Seal with little Henry?"

"Where?" Shaz and I blurted simultaneously.

"Over there. Going into Mothercare. I don't see Heidi or Leni with him, do you?"

Not really all that uncommon to happen upon a celebrity from time to time on the bustling streets of London. Three weeks ago, saw Sean Bean coming out of the Ivy, and Kat, (don't know her actual name), from Eastenders standing on queue in Sainsbury's last Thursday. Thought this was the perfect opportunity to have a look in Mothercare under false pretenses. "Come on then. Let's have a look," I suggested eagerly, leaving them behind without waiting for a response.

My interest in celebrity stalking faded as "baby brain" grabbed hold and so as Jude and Shaz stalked Seal and son, I walked up and down the aisles like a child on Christmas morning.

Couldn't resist buying the cutest Winnie the Pooh Moses basket and teeny pink shoes with puppies on them. Seal bought a Jumparoo. Everyone was happy…except Jude who didn't get an autograph but instead a sharp reprimand because his assistant was an arsehole (her words).

"Bridget, what the hell are you going to do with those? You're barely even a month pregnant if even that."

Not being mummies themselves, suspect it difficult for them to fathom and appreciate nesting instincts of an expectant mother.

Stopped round at Coin's for a quick hormone-craved latte and two chocolate croissants. Still thinking about Daniel's proposition, however piggish and tactless, and then spotting Seal in the shop. How lovely to see a proud daddy out with his child. Began to reflectively tear up…again. Bollocks! Have become such a blubbering mad cow lately. Not to be confused with actual mad cow, as am not a hunch-backed, shaking bovine.

"Do you think Daniel would make a good father?" Bad question to ask with mouths full. Both choked on their lattes. Feared they might then try to choke me.

"You couldn't possibly be thinking..." Jude began. Shaz cut in, "Are you fucking mad! When are you going to finally open your eyes and see that he is nothing but a cocky, sex-obsessed bastard whose only true objective in life is to find someone who can give his willy a stiffy!"

"Yes, but I happen to quite enjoy sex. And Daniel is quite…well, you know." Oh god. What am I saying? That is so…not the point. Cannot believe I said that out loud. Am tired, horny, and starving…ordered a third croissant and a turkey on rye while Shaz continued her tirade, ignoring my rather daft, momentary lack of sanity.

"He doesn't want the burden of children…though it wouldn't surprise me to know that there were already little illegitimate mini-Cleavers out there." Jude piped back in. Was like watching a tennis rally between the two of them the way they were feeding off of each other at my expense. Eventually, Jude rested her hand atop mine, the one not being used to hoover down the sandwich or any other spare morsel of sustenance on the table, and made thoughtful eye contact. "Bridge, your baby already has a father. I think you're just looking for someone…anyone who will be there for you. _You_ don't need to be taken care of. And as far as the baby goes, Mark may have his horrendous faults, but he'll be a super father. And just because the two of you aren't together, doesn't mean your child won't be loved by both of you equally. You don't have to live together to be supportive."

"Wait a minute…that sounds familiar. Where did I read that?" Perhaps on a 'Sorry-you-were-knocked-up-by-a-pretentious-prick-but-better-luck-next-time' greeting card?

"Hello Magazine. Geri Haliwell," Jude confessed. Jude. Voice of reason, even if sometimes it is someone else's reasoning.

They were right. Will be brilliant, modern single mummy living life on self's own terms just like Geri Haliwell. Am in complete control of self's own destiny.

**Tuesday January 8**

_Weight: 9st 5; Number of times poked self in eye while learning to insert appearance-altering contacts: 10 (at least); Flatmates: 0; Dates: 1 _

**9:25am** **Sit Up Britain office** Ugh! Obsequious whistles and catcalls from fellow male cubie dwellers. Unwanted, but pleasantly surprising attention when trying to sneak in 20 minutes late. Had the most awful time trying to curl hair this morning as am beginning to believe am style retarded. Have become too used to the simple wash-and-go style, likely accounting for self's usual frizzy madness. Was brutally reminded of a rather important lesson this morning however. NEVER, under any circumstances, place hand firmly around barrel of curling wand when plugged in. Had to stand with one hand under tap for several minutes while trying to pop in new contacts and apply mascara with the other, unfortunately blinking during application causing unsightly raccoon-eye effect. Finally Shaz came to my rescue and finished styling my hair, but with her moving out today will likely be even later tomorrow.

**9:45am** Inbox full, but far too much of it junk. Am now asked regularly if I want to enlarge my penis, or purchase Viagra, possibly to assist self's new jumbo penis…assuming self's new penis is far too past its prime and cumbersome to be functional.

**10:05am** Have also gotten replies back from a few potential mates as well as a few new subjects. Not bad for having no picture posted. Perhaps not all men are as shallow and blinded by superficial, supermodel beauty as had once suspected. Have my first date as Brandy Summers tonight. V. exciting. Must email Daniel that our "date" will need to be rescheduled.

**6:00pm** **My flat** Shaz and I packed her things in silence, making room for my home office. Until baby arrives will use nursery for important Pulitzer Prize worthy, journalistic endeavors. Set up laptop, fax machine, bundle of freshly sharpened pencils, and teeny baby shoes on a small desk. Richard has already given me a stack of things to research…a chance to hone my Googling skills.

Shaz. There really was no reason for her to stay any longer. Let's face it; she's more of a hindrance than help in the "break-up buddy" department. And I've been less than accommodating with her smoking in the flat, insisting that she go to the terrace to freeze her bum off in the snow. Had no idea what an intolerable source of annoyance Shaz was until we've now lived together for seven long days. Frankly I'm surprised it lasted that long. In all fairness, she probably thinks the same of me, though neither of us is talking about it. Every irritating thing I already knew about her, and was prepared to overlook, was now magnified. And likely, same for her. She says I'm a neurotic slob. I say she has the patience of a toddler and suffers from "expertitis" on everything from relationships to the proper cheese spread to serve at a Bar Mitzvah party. V. annoying.

Eventually the tense silence was broken. "So Bridge, my intern, Sara and I are going to an eye gazing party tonight at the Electric. Wanna come along?"

"A what?"

"It's like speed dating without talking. You gaze meaningfully at someone for 3 minutes without talking then you switch to someone else. Afterward you're free to chat up whomever you had the most meaningful stare down with. Very new age. It's all the rage in New York."

"Sounds a bit strange if you ask me. Besides, I have a date tonight with…" consulted day planner, "Jeff H. the lorry driver from Westminster."

"Ok, your loss. It's you who was always going on about how _wobbly-kneed_ Mark made you feel when he'd look at you with those "sexy bedroom eyes" of his." She was mocking me with her theatrics, fanning herself as she flopped onto the sofa. "Thought you might get off on something like this." She giggled in continued mocking fashion.

Therein lies the problem and the main reason why she's not sympathetic enough to be a "break-up buddy". Didn't let on that I was offended as would not be demonstrating emotional growth and detachment. "You'll just have to tell me all about it tomorrow."

"So where is Mr. H meeting you anyway? Are you nervous?" This was after all, my first actual internet date.

"We're meeting for coffee at Progreso in Covent Garden. Then if things go well, we'll probably have dinner somewhere." Confessed that I was a bit nervous but that Daniel would be near by if I needed him. Rolled her eyes at mere mention of his name.

**11:05pm** Ended up at the Electric after leaving Progreso. He thought it would be fun to try the eye gazing thing. My date took me on a date to pick up other dates. Great. So Jeff H. falls under the category of seemingly nice guy at first but then find out is sort of sleezy, as quantity of women is more important than quality. He and Daniel would get on well.

**Wednesday January 9**

_Weight: 9st 5; Uncomfortable encounters with ex-future mother-in-law: 1; Tacky tikis acquired: 1; Pointless wedding dresses: 1_

**12:15pm** Home from work. Answerphone message from Mum: "Darling, we're home." Three words I've been dreading all week. Am now expected to drive up to the country, sit patiently while Mum drones on about plans for a wedding that will not be, break the news, and listen as she rants about what I undoubtedly have done wrong. Worse yet, Elaine Darcy will be there to witness the carnage. Why on earth would she agree to it? Surely she must know. By now the Darcys have likely had Mark and Rebecca round for supper. The perfect snooty family now complete…Malcolm and Elaine, Peter and Anastasia, Mark and Rebecca. In a few years time I'll be nothing more than a hiccup on Mark's radar…our child a permanent reminder of a time in his life when he had set aside his prejudice and allowed himself to fall in love with someone "normal". I know he loved me, but I'm not sure if I'll ever understand how feelings like that could be swayed so quickly by outside influence.

**12:20pm **Will be triumphant ice princess in presence of the grandmums on any topic involving Mark Darcy…

**7:15pm** "Darling! So lovely to see you!" Was greeted with usual Mum welcoming ritual of double air kiss. Always worry will start with wrong cheek leading to accidental parental snog. Then she stepped back to survey…er, ridicule my appearance. "Whatever on earth have you done to your hair?"

"Yes Mother I've decided to make a few changes. May I come in?" I asked shuffling past her, dropping my laptop onto a nearby chair and removing my coat and scarf.

"Darling, I do so wish you had worn a dress. Your future mother-in-law will be here any moment. You don't want her to see you like that, do you?" What's wrong with what I'm wearing? Since when are trousers unacceptable? "Why don't you go up and see if you can find something to slip into." Last time I followed those wishes ended up humiliated, wearing equivalent of lounge curtains.

"Mother, what I'm wearing is perfectly fine," I asserted as we walked into the lounge Before she could object to my defiance, changed the subject. "So, Mum, how was Hawaii?"

"Oh Darling, the Tantric seminar was simply fabulous. Daddy was a bit reluctant at first you know, but before long he seemed to quite enjoy it." She leaned in a bit and lowered her trill, "Our therapist taught Daddy how to open my Sacred Gate." She placed her hand to her mouth and giggled a bit.

Knowing there was no gate leading to the garden, I should never have asked. "Mum, what are you going on about?"

"You know Darling…" She pointed downward. "My G-Spot"

"Mother, please!" Ugh! My ears felt as if they had suddenly burst into flames.

"Perhaps you can show Mark yours on your wedding night."

Too late for that. Mark and I had long since unlocked that gate, strolled the sacred grounds, and enjoyed the scenery many times over. "Uh, Mum, about that…"

"Speaking of your wedding night, I've brought back a little something for you! A true Hawaiian artifact that I think you will find most helpful," she sing-songed excitedly, scampering off into the dining room. With any luck gift was courtesy of a witch doctor in form of a voodoo doll or shrunken head in Mark Darcy's likeness. Instead she reemerged seconds later with the ugliest big-eyed, pot-bellied tiki I'd ever seen. She plunked the wooden little beast into my hands. "It's the God of Fertility!" Great. Was speechless…It's hideous. "Rub his opu and you and Mark will be blessed with good fortune." Little did she know I had already rubbed Mark's opu and the fertility god had already made a deposit beyond that so-called sacred gate.

"Hopefully this time next year that good fortune will have us all hearing the pitter-patter of tiny feet, hmm Bridget?" Una interjected, emerging from the kitchen and planting a single smacking kiss on my cheek. "Bridget! How wonderful to see you Dear. I wouldn't have recognized you if I'd seen you on the street." She took my hands in hers and stepped back to give a head to toe inspection. "Lovely, simply lovely." Turning to Mum, "Pam, lunch is ready. Has Elaine arrived yet?" Right on cue, the doorbell rang and Mum scurried off. Una continued, "We've prepared a fantastic lunch…nothing too fattening. We wouldn't want our little Bridget too pudgy in her wedding dress, would we? That will come soon enough when you get pregnant"

Mum reentered the room with Elaine Darcy in tow. Acknowledged her in all her reserved finery, with a disingenuous smile and slight nod. "What's this about being pregnant?" Mum asked giddily. "Actually Darling, you do look as if you've been eating a bit more than you should. Are you retaining water?"

"Remind me to give you a fantastic cabbage diet plan that I've recently put Jeffrey on before you leave."

The four of us made our way to the back garden. Throughout the anticipated and dreaded graphic Tantric lecture led by self's no-subject-too-sacred Mum while dining on appetite unfulfilling de-crusted cucumber sandwich wedges, fresh fruit, and tea, was more than a bit tense every time Mrs. Darcy's knowing eyes wandered in my direction.

Heard the patio door open. Ah, Dad. Was good to see him looking tanned and chipper. Had gotten so used to him lumbering about in suicidal-type state. "Lovely to see you Poppet. Love the hair." We exchanged pecks on the cheek. And as if he had been listening at the door, he said, "Pamela Dear, Bridget doesn't want to hear about her dreary old parent's love life when she's about to marry the handsome Mark Darcy in about 3 months." He turned back to me. "Why you must be over the moon. Have the two of you set a date?" I didn't dare look at Mrs. Darcy.

"Dad…Mum, about that…"

"Oooo yes, the wedding!" As if she had forgotten, and suddenly leaped out of her seat, "Darling you must come and have a look at the lovely dress that I found for you in Maui. I do hope you like it as much as I do." She shooed Dad away with a flap of her hands. Imagined walking down the aisle barefoot in sarong-type gown with orange passionflowers as big as dinner plates plastered in strategic places all over my body to the tune of 'Tiny Bubbles' played on a ukulele.

"Mum…"

"Well, come on." She grabbed my hand and marched me into the dining room, Una following close behind as usual. Mrs. Darcy lingered in at a distance.

"Mum, I have to tell you some…thing…" Fully expected to enter into Polynesian madness, but instead was taken aback by all of the lovely fabric swatches, photos of assorted pastry delicacies, floral designs, and the most beautiful Carolina Herrera ivory gown I had ever seen.

"Tra-la!…Do you like the gown?" My eyes were tearing, ice princess tiara melting. "The shop had an identical one in white, but that wouldn't be appropriate at your age…and we're not exactly pure now, are we?"

"Oh Mummy!" Ignoring the insult, gave her and Una each giant hugs. They presumed it was in appreciation for the lovely spread of bridal finery, but I really just needed to be comforted by someone who wasn't going to make a mockery of a life that I so desperately wanted. And that was to be a wife and mother…in that order, with a flourishing successful journalism career.

"What do you think Elaine? Won't my daughter be beautiful walking down the aisle to marry your handsome son in this gown?"

Mrs. Darcy hesitated, and then responded with a tight, closed mouth, glassy-eyed smile. "Bridget would certainly be beautiful in anything that she wore." She and I silently stared at one another for a moment and she wiped a tear from my eye with her napkin. "Are you going to tell them, or shall I, dear?" Suddenly faced with this decision, envisioned being blindfolded with the droll sound of an executioner's march drilling in the distance as the firing squad prepared for my demise, ridding the world of yet another tragic, although not barren, spinster. If not for said non-barren status would have certainly made one last request to join Dad in the garden for a smoke.

"Tell us what Darling?" Mum and Una glared at me disapprovingly, as if to say 'What has she gone and done now?'

Took a deep breath with my head down, trying to find the words to explain something that I didn't even understand. "Mark and I…Mark and I are not getting married. We split up again. This time for good." The room fell uncomfortably silent.

Finally Una spoke. Mum was still struggling to process the bombshell. Her lower lip and hands visibly trembling. "But why Dear?"

"I don't know." Was unable to look at any of them, ice princess tiara now a puddle of water on the floor. Began instead to unravel hem of my top, trying more than anything not to start crying again. Am cried out on this subject. "It all fell apart the night of the wedding."

"The night of the wedding? But how… The two of you couldn't take your eyes off of each other all day," Una reminisced. Told them the whole story from Mark's infidelity to the confusing night that I gave back the ring…minus the part about finding out that I was pregnant. One crisis at a time.

Still unclear as to whom chucked whom. Chucked him, but then when was willing to patch things up, he became gigantic snooty arse, thereby deflecting my reconciliation attempt. So ultimately, does that make me the chucker or the chuckee? All v. confusing. Actually found self suddenly envious of Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall of all people. After a 36 year romance, Charles and Camilla have just celebrated their first wedding anniversary, always having been destined to be together, and here I am being observed as some alien who cannot even hold onto a fiancé until I get him to the altar…destined to be with no one.

"He said that we come from two different worlds and that his brother is right, my family and I are ridiculous and embarrassing, and how could he ever possibly further his important law career if married to such a classless woman who cannot even be expected to hold a decent conversation in public without insulting someone. It's best to end it now." Well, maybe not those exact words, but that's what I got from it. Mum was beside herself, mouth gaping open making sharp breathy sounds as I told the whole sordid tale. Glared at Mrs. Darcy, curiously awaiting what possible excuse she could conjure for having such ill mannered, arrogant sons.

"My son said that to you?" She appeared genuinely shocked and even a bit angry. At who? Herself for raising such an unconscionable prat? "My dear," Mrs. Darcy continued sternly. "I cannot imagine that my son could say something as hateful." Is she calling me a liar now?

Excused myself upstairs to lie down as had worked self into a state of frenzy and was not feeling too well. Barely made it upstairs before becoming horrendously sick.

Can only imagine that any words spoken between Mum and Mrs. Darcy after that were tense at best, and was completely shocked when 15 or so minutes later there was a knock at the bedroom door.

Was then alone with Elaine Darcy. Ice princess tiara intact again, "Why did you come here today? To embarrass me?"

"No Dear. That wasn't my intention at all. I came to see how you are." She remained sympathetic in the face of my obvious and intentional rudeness.

"As you can see, I am perfectly fine." She studied me carefully for a moment with what seemed a mixture of sadness and pity, while I gave my most convincing expressionless, statue impression. Probably not a foreign demonstration, as is likely what she sees every night when looking over at the man lying next to her in bed. Then she turned away to leave. "Oh, and I believe that this belongs to you." Held out my hand to return the engraved locket to its rightful owner.

Elaine Darcy left the Jones home without a single word to or from anyone.

**10:30pm** Mark just rang. Didn't pick up.

**Thursday January 10**

**7:30am** Played back last night's answerphone message again…lost count how many times I've already done it, just to hear his voice one more time.

"Bridget, it's Mark…My mother told me about seeing you this afternoon…I, um…I just thought I should…Oh dammit, I don't know what to say…except…that I'm sorry that I can't be the man that you want or need me to be. You deserve to be happy…" There was dead air momentarily before he finally rang off.

Not going in to work today…not getting out of bed either.

**8:10am** Bugger! Date tonight.


	17. Chapter 17 Moving On pt 2

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XVII

Moving On (Part 2)

**Thursday January 10**

_Weight: 9st 5; Online purchases: 1; Good ideas for how to tell Mark that he's going to be a father: 0; Rude, jealous ex-boyfriends: 1; Nervous breakdowns: 1; Turning points: 1_

**8:30am **Though have currently been rereading Women Who Love Too Much for what seems like the bazillionth time, and now that am officially "online" having found that there is a plethora of self-help advice at the click of the mouse, it seems to me that everyone is of the belief that they hold the golden key to unlock the door to finding inner peace and tranquility,…having a lasting, loving relationship while still maintaining mind-numbing sex,…successful recovery from addictions from eating to sex, or the secret to miraculously reducing the circumference of one's thighs in just 7 days without diet and exercise. Right. There are even books on how to write your own self-help remedy. Frankly am beginning to wonder if anyone really knows what the hell he or she is talking about? Whether it be as a result of self's dysfunctional family, someone else's dysfunctional family, or my own damn fault, cannot seem to figure out what I am supposed to do. Even when I don't think that I am, I just continue to make the same mistakes…and with the same ambivalent men!

**9:05am **Just made v. first online purchase…a book about how to be successful co-parents after divorce. Not exactly divorced, but roughly same concept. Perhaps should get a copy for Mark as well and have it dispatched to his home. Would he get the hint? No, too tactless. Would be no better than Daniel Cleaver, Richard Finch, or…Simon Cowell, laying waste to those defenseless American singing contestants who think they actually have talent. Must think of another way to tell him. Anyhow, will definitely have to bookmark Amazon for future. V. useful and simple resource. Also bought a few cds. Music most definitely therapeutic in healing process. Self's new anthem: 'Single' by Natasha Bedingfield.

**9:55am **Bugger! Phone. Don't be Finch…Don't be Finch…

**10:00am** Was Molly Simmons, colleague and closest friend at Sit Up Britain. "Bridget, I don't know why you're not, but you'd better get in here straight away," she whispered into the phone.

"Why are you whispering?" I asked, setting laptop aside, emerging from the warmth of bed.

"Finch is on the warpath again. Just thought you should have fair…hang on," Could hear Richard's muffled rantings getting louder and then fading again, as if Molly's hand was over the phone as he stormed by her cubicle, something about ratings and incompetence. "Bridge, he's called a mandatory meeting for 11:00. I think you'd better be there." Buuugggeerr!

**2:30pm **Hurried in, fearful of being sacked. For what, not sure, but seemed natural to jump to that conclusion. Cannot take any chances with single motherhood looming. Had no idea that after such a rough start, today was to be a turning point.

Ran into Daniel in the lift coming in. "Very sophisticated Jones. Did I pay for it?" Suddenly felt v. regretful that it was in fact one of the outfits that he had purchased. He continued, "I might enjoy taking this off just as much as the short skirts. What do you say Jones, dinner tonight?"

"Am I to be the main course Daniel? I said with false sweetness.

Felt his hand sliding down my back and rest upon my bum. "Now that you mention it…" His hot breath was flooding my ear. Slimy bastard.

Lift doors opened and I stormed out. Richard Finch and a small group of others were flocked near by. "Forget it Daniel Cleaver. You are without a doubt the most certifiable egomaniac I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!"

"Ah! Certifiable. A new word. Have you been reading those ridiculous psychobabble books again or just studying the dictionary?" Daniel retorted smugly.

"What's this, another lover's spat?" Could hear Finch saying to Daniel as I made a beeline for the loo. "What's crawled up her fat arse and died?" Didn't hear Daniel's reply.

Stood in front of the washbasin, staring blankly into the mirror for what seemed an eternity. Next thing I remember was Molly wiping my eyes and helping me up from the floor where I had been crouched against the wall, my new dress a wrinkled mess. If I hadn't been so concerned with further ridicule, I'd have taken the damned dress off and thrown it in Daniel's face. So tired of everyone wanting more from me than what I am! Mark, Daniel, Mum, Richard, even Sharon and Jude…

The meeting thankfully was not really about me at all but about the programme being in need of reorganization. In other words, it was in trouble. With the Smooth Guide on hiatus, SUB ratings have been dropping. As a result, Daniel has been assigned to me for another few weeks and then he's off to Mexico. Finch of course is blaming us, but suspect that he is feeling the heat from the network to make adjustments or it's his arse on the line.

Will be wearing an audio wire tonight and Daniel has begrudgingly been instructed to make sure that my every move is captured on hidden camera…the next phase in the project.

**5:30pm **Tonight's date is with an exterminator from Chiswick by the name of Tim Windham. We've been corresponding for several days, he being a somewhat aggressive pursuer. Was a bit wary but, I had a job to do and besides being a bit anxious, he seemed like a v. nice man. And so have finally agreed to meet at 6:30 for dinner in Ealing. Sounds promising but not holding my breath…Not that am looking.

**9:45pm **Was running late with new suede Manolo-like pumps rubbing massive hole in tights and subsequent hole into flesh. Hobbled into the quaint French bistro where I was to meet Mr. Windham. After a sleepless night listening to and thinking about Mark's bumbling phone message, being reamed by Richard for missing 1st blog deadline, Daniel publicly insulting me for putting him off for the second time, and near nervous breakdown in office loo, was not exactly in the mood for a date. Hot bath and warm bed sounded much more appealing.

No sooner had I checked with the maitre d, a v.v. handsome man with short, brown, wavy hair touched my shoulder and presented me with a rose. My first thought was 'Why does such a gorgeous man need a dating service to find a date?'. My second thought, 'Don't fuck this up!'.

Dinner was fantastic. Conversation was easy, though I must admit I did tend to ramble on a bit, as I so often do when in the presence of someone extremely attractive. He didn't seem to mind. We had an immediate connection and the chemistry was undeniable. His beautiful and dark brown eyes and warm smile made my fingers tingle, and when he pulled me in for a hug at the end of the evening, couldn't help but want to stay there. He didn't try to kiss me, though I wished he had.

Watched him get into his Volvo and drive away, still under his spell, having for a while forgotten the reality of my situation.

Daniel came out of the restaurant carrying his gear, Sit Up Britain's lanky copy girl in tow. Was still leaning against self's car, deep in thought. "What the hell was that? You don't actually like that phony wanker?"

"Shut up Daniel."

**Friday January 11**

_Weight: 9st6; ex-sightings: 1; DVDs viewed: 0_

**11:15am** Am being teased mercilessly by film editing crew upstairs about Tim. Taking bets on when he will call me. Gaahh! Daniel is avoiding me as if I've suddenly contracted Bird Flu. While I most certainly do not have Bird Flu, am, however, having v. strong urges to peck his eyes out.

**6:45pm** Have the night off…no date. Shaz and Jude are coming round to watch a video and share a pizza instead. Am looking forward to being lazy in front of the telly.

**7:15pm **Found out that baby is not at all agreeable to mushrooms. Bugger! Used to be mummy's favorite. And yet peanut butter and tomato sandwiches have become new favourite midnight snack.

**12:10am **"What are you doing Bridge?" Jude asked, as she and Shaz shuffled through self's extensive DVD collection searching for something to watch.

"Just looking out the window…Have you picked one yet?"

"How about something with Ralph Fiennes? The Constant Gardener or Wallace and Gromit?"

"Either one is fine. Oh!…."

"What is it?" They joined me at the window just in time to see Mark jogging by.

"Bridget! Have you been standing here for the last 20 minutes watching for him!" They made me feel ashamed about it, but I had been, just as I do most nights that I'm home. He glanced up and the three of us shrunk back from the window like snipers dodging enemy retaliation. "Come on." Jude pulled me toward the sofa and plopped me down between the two of them. "That behaviour is not healthy detachment, young lady. You're moving on, remember?" Jude started Wallace and Gromit, but we spent most of the time talking, giggling, and slathering each other with anti-stress green mud masks. Maybe it is time to let go of the past. Most importantly, don't ever want to change nights like these with the girls. Though they don't always agree with my decisions, and nag me to distraction, as long as I don't have to live with them, they're the best I've got. Them, and of course my baby.

**1:30am** Alone now in flat…Have not heard from Tim. Was I just imagining the spark between us? Was sure he would call. What did I do wrong?

**Saturday January 12**

**10:30pm **Why hasn't Tim called? Maybe he was in a tragic car crash on the way home from our date. He's been in the hospital for the last 2 days with amnesia and doesn't remember who he is. Yes, that must be it.

**10:34pm **Oh no! He doesn't remember me either!

**10:40pm **Need nightcap with faithful friends Ben and Jerry. Oh…a few pieces left of last night's Cadbury Milktray. Chocolate good for the endorphins.

**10:55pm **Found one more piece under sofa cushion…Goody!

**Sunday January 13**

**11:00pm **Am an idiot! He thinks I'm a ridiculous twit with stupid opinions. Thinking back, constant nodding head and frozen smile should have been self's first inkling that he was just feigning interest, and likely thinks I'm a stark raving lunatic. Hope I didn't talk about Mark too much. He must have been counting the minutes before the date ended so that he could place as much time and distance between us. He probably went home to down aspirin with a whiskey chaser in hopes of forgetting that we had ever met.

**11:20pm** It isn't my personality…it's my arse! It's too big! He thinks I'm a fat arse. When he said I was pretty, he was being ironic.

**11:23pm** Insincere bastard.

**Monday January 14 **

_Weight: 9st6; Ex-sightings: 1; Immature acts: 1; Strange conversations: 1; Neurotic thoughts: Always_

**11:15am **Appointment with Dr. Lloyd before work today. Not yet time for monthly check-up, but rather a follow-up on last panicked unscheduled visit. Told him that there was still some bleeding but not like before. He assured me it was still v. early yet and not to be to concerned…normal…ultrasound unnecessary…everything on track. Hurrah! Just wish there was some way to skip the bloody nausea. Left doctor's office feeling hopeful and happy, but then remembered I still had to go to work. Richard is a royal pain in the arse lately…more so than usual with upper-management watching his every move. Ugh! Possibly will require a bit of retail therapy first. Besides, gave no specific time that I'd be in today and will just stay later. Yes. V. good. Harrod's it is. Not that will be able to afford anything, as Kensington shops are a bit posh for self's meager bank account. And under no circumstances can Daniel pay for any more new outfits as will then not only have to go out with him, but shag him as well. Seeing as how can barely stand sight of the beastly prick at present moment, that would be a challenge.

Hmm. Odd. En route to the shops a v. familiar car, a silver Aston Martin Vanquish, undoubtedly worth three times self's annual salary, darted out in front of me. Not as in cut me off, but entered traffic from Cromwell Hospital car park as was just about to pass by. Yes. No car seats, no Spongebob sunscreens, no visible toys suctioned to the windows, or fluffy kitties and purple fire-breathing dragons staring out rear window at approaching traffic. Was indeed Jeremy, in a pre-midlife crisis gift to himself. Meanwhile Magda is still driving a 6 year old Mummy-mobile with afore mentioned amenities. He wasn't alone. When at the next light I pulled up next to them in the turn lane, saw that it was Mark in the passenger seat. They both gave a half-hearted attempt at a smile, as if sorry they had been seen. Mark looked tired…no, exhausted, and had a few days growth on his chin but was dressed as smartly as ever. Was a good thing he wasn't driving. But why were they at the hospital? Had there been an accident at work? Distracted, was jolted back into reality by honking cars and drivers cursing me to turn right.

Was seized by impulse. "Fuck off you bastard!" Accompanied that with an unfriendly hand gesture. Began to accelerate, but first made side glance over to Mark who was no longer looking at me, but was shaking his head and saying something to Jeremy. Yes, this must be what he meant by considering the repercussions before doing something reckless and immature. Immediately regretted actions. No wonder he doesn't want me. So in this case the repercussions were that I had definitely put myself into imminent danger of being a senseless victim of road rage. The irate driver followed me, practically in my backseat for 6 long blocks honking and flashing his headlamps and likely would have killed me with a machete kept under his seat, chopping me into tiny unrecognizable bits, tossing me into a nondescript bin bag, and dropping said bag into the river, once I eventually run out of petrol and could no longer escape. Instead though was lucky…He must have grown bored, or had missed that episode of CSI. He was gone by the next block. Was eventually able to release white-knuckled death grip on steering wheel and turn the radio back on.

No longer in the mood to shop, decided to skip Harrods all together and head to the station. Wasn't even out of the car before ringing Magda, but she was busy with her Mummy and Me group. Said she'd ring back later. Bugger!

**6:40pm** Finally Magda called back while I was getting ready for yet another date. "Sorry Bridge. Got hung up with taking the boys to group, fixing lunch, carpool to pick up Constance and her little mates at nursery school, the supermarket, then dinner. I think I have a few minutes before bath and bedtime. How are you?" When I asked her if she ever thought about going back to work at her old job as a legal assistant, she choked and then started to laugh…or cry, not sure which. "Maybe when the kids are at university. Or if by some stroke of luck Jeremy comes home one day and says that he's tired of 10 hour days at the firm, drinks and dinner with clients after, and Lord only knows what else he does before he decides to come home." Sadly, the Lord isn't the only one who knows what else her husband of 8 years occasionally does after work. Must be some lawyer initiation or contest to see who can shag the most junior partners. Last year's winner Jeremy, this year Mark. Really didn't know what to say, so without thinking, asked if she wanted me to watch the kids sometime soon so that maybe she and Jeremy could have a weekend holiday to themselves to reconnect. She snapped at the offer like a rabid wolf salivating over human remains. And so now am going to be watching Constance, Harry, and Nicholas this coming weekend, assuming Jeremy agrees to it. Will be great mummy practice! Hopefully won't lose any of them this time.

When I finally asked her about seeing Jeremy and Mark leaving the hospital today she became quiet and had to ask if she was still on the line. "Oh, uh…sorry Bridge…what was that? The children are getting fussy. Really should get them in the tub soon." I didn't hear anything. Was only able to get that she thought they might be collecting medical research for a case involving a terminally ill 15-year old Afghan refugee and his mother. She seemed to recall overhearing a conversation with Mark to that affect.

"Wouldn't it be easier just to get their information from the internet?"

"Maybe. I don't know…If it doesn't involve nappies, play dates, or Thomas the Train, I don't know much of anything anymore." She sounded tired, nervous, and exasperated. "A word of advice Bridge? If you ever decide to have babies, and you can afford it…hire a nanny. Or, at least make sure you have a husband that is around more than two hours a day to help you out." Poor Magda. Gaahh! Poor me.

"Magda, are you sure there isn't something that you're not telling me?"

Momentary silence. "Um…well, Harry does have a rather nasty rash on his bum."

"No, I mean about Jeremy and Mark."

"Of course not." Hung up and headed out the door. Off to meet Royce M. for coffee…

**10:30pm **Home from another unfulfilling date, but at same time gathering brilliant information for prize-winning human interest expose'. Hurrah!

**10:31pm** Still no calls from Tim.

**10:32pm** He's married! That's it. His poor suffering wife found my emails and phone number and has now exterminated him for being the loathsome pest to society that he is.

**10:40pm **Knew he seemed too good to be true. Good riddance!

**Tuesday January 15**

**9:30pm **Maybe he's simply lost my mobile number. Should call him…or send an email.

**9:35pm** …but don't want to seem overly anxious. What would I say that didn't seem completely pathetic? "So sorry to bother you, I don't mean to harass you, but just thought that since it's been 120 hours since I've heard from you, not that I'm counting, maybe you had lost my number."

**9:40pm **Rang Jude…Should be patient…let him pursue me. Right.

**9:43pm** Wrong. Insanity! _When Am I Going to Be Happy_ clearly states that I should not be manipulated into becoming an emotional prisoner of passive-aggressiveness. Tim is clearly trying to control me by being all charming and smarmy one day and ignoring me the next. So now what am I doing? …trying to soothe self's anxiety by listening to advice of friends who are just as emotionally crippled as I am. Jude, dear wonderful Jude, who spends more work hours in the loo sulking to me and Sharon about Vile Richard and all their hang-ups and mishaps than actually doing her job. Should the emotionally broken really be depending on the emotionally handicapped?

**Wednesday January 16**

**10:45pm **Can't believe I've wasted almost a week of my time thinking about Tim Windham. He is an emotional withholder just like Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver. Can't believe I fell for another one. Some people are attracted exclusively to blondes…some to only pop stars and athletes…while I habitually form attachments to emotional voidance.

**10:50pm** Even if he does call and grovel for forgiveness (if of course has not fallen victim to afore mentioned spousal extermination), will be perfect ice princess and put phone down on him. Yes. V.G.

**Thursday January 17 **

**5:30pm **Hurrah! He called! Tim finally called! Said he was v. sorry but had unexpectedly been called away on business. Didn't realize that rat and insect control required business trips. Must make sure to find out more about v. important business of pest extermination.

He's coming round on Saturday. Says he has a surprise for me. Goody!

**Saturday January 19**

_Weight: 9st7 (Gaah!); Children: 4 (Only 1 self's own); Rules broken: 2; Spitting llamas: 1_

**9:10am **Feeling refreshed and hopeful about today. Never expected assignment would not only advance self's stagnant career but would find a nice, normal, and might I add v. delicious man who actually fancies spending time with me in the process. Decided it would be ok to tell him where I live and so he's coming to pick me up in an hour and a half for a lovely brunch. No microphones or cameras…or Daniel's watchful eye.. This is the real thing. Goody!

**10:15am** Oh doom! In self's excitement over Tim calling, completely forgot that I had volunteered to baby-sit this weekend…and now Constance, Harry, and Nicholas are lined up on the sofa, staring at me, sippy cups and bottles in hands, likely in expectation of some grand adventure. Magda presented me with an extensive list of doctor's numbers, allergies, feeding schedules, to-dos, not-to-dos… Meanwhile Jeremy slunk in behind her carrying all manner of child paraphernalia…double pushchair, potty trainer for Harry, travel cot for Nicholas, high chair, toys, nappies, bottles… You'd think they were staying a week! Magda and Jeremy's faces seemed so war-torn , appreciative and relieved that I didn't have the heart to tell them that I had forgotten and made other plans. Passed off self's slightly overdone appearance for a Saturday morning as a celebration of newly regained independence.

"Was your hospital visit productive last Monday, Jeremy?"

"Productive?" He cocked his head.

"Oh yes, you and Mark were able to get a lot of useful information for your case with the sick Iraqi boy and his mother, weren't you Dear? Magda interjected, pensively looking at Jeremy and then to me smiling.

"I thought they were refugees from Afghanistan?"

"Yes, that's what I meant. Afghan." Magda corrected.

"Oh, I was unaware that you knew anything about that, since you and Mark…er…" Magda nudged him hard in the side. "Sorry."

"It's ok. I'm completely over the lying bastard and I've got a new look to prove it." Making progress anyway. Twirled self around so that they could get a better view of the new me. "You know, you really should suggest to Mark that he shave and get some sleep. He looks like hell."

After a bit of silence, Jeremy checked his watch and awkwardly excused the two of them, saying that they were running late…heading for the Wiltshire countryside for the weekend. "Byeee," Magda announced, kissing each of her children one last time.

**11:05am** Door…oh shit!

**12:45am **Will never forget how gorgeous Tim looked when he arrived. Reminded me so much of the palpitations and sweaty palms I had felt after opening the door on the day of my 33rd birthday to find Mark Darcy sweetly staring up at me. Only this time, instead of puréed orange zest, had spots of apple juice from Nicholas's bottle strategically dribbled on self's top to resemble untimely lactation.

We were exchanging awkwardly shy greetings when Harry wobbled over to say hi.

"Well hello there. And who might you be?" Tim asked, seeming to take a child's presence in stride. Harry introduced himself and Tim shook his little hand, which was really more like Harry grabbing hold of Tim's finger and squeezing. I explained the situation and thankfully he seemed unfazed by it.

"There's no problem. We'll just take them with us," Tim announced happily. "There's plenty of room in my car for all of us." A nice man who likes children. Hmmm. How could I have gotten so lucky? He picked up the double stroller and headed toward the door, but then stopped and turned back toward me. "Actually Brandy, maybe this is not such a good idea." My heart sank and Constance looked at him strangely. As if reading my expression, "What I mean is, you hardly know me and well, I can not imagine that your friends would much appreciate their children getting into a car with a virtual stranger, even if you were accompanying them."

He was right of course. Why hadn't I thought of that? Oh God! What was I thinking? I wasn't thinking. Trying v. hard to say and do everything just right but so far was failing.

Luckily Magda had thought of everything and left her estate car for me to use while they had gone off in Jeremy's. My car was not nearly large enough for their brood.

He helped me load the children into their car seats after first herding them in and out of the loo, and then I proceeded to follow Tim in his car to our destination.

In the car, "Why did that man call you Brandy, Bridget?"

Sudden panic. "He and I are playing a secret name game. You can play too."

"Oooo. Can me and Harry have a secret name? Nicky is too little to play." Constance was already starting in with the incessant questions, while Harry sat in the middle picking his nose trying unsuccessful to wipe his finger on his big sister. Nicholas was already halfway to dreamland slurping preciously on his dummy.

Had to remember to call her Beatrice and she wanted Harry to be called Simon. Actually, really wanted to reveal my true identity to Tim, so that we can have an open and honest relationship, but unfortunately I signed an official agreement stating that I would remain completely professional until the end of the project to prevent accidentally blowing self's cover. Had already broken the most important rule: No fraternizing with the "clients", but what Finch doesn't know won't hurt him, will it?

Tim was treating us to a ride on the London Eye. The children were v. excited and it made me happy that they were happy. Started to tear up. Must be the hormones.

Thankfully they were all free. The queue was long and the children were restless. Nicholas was no longer slurping preciously on his dummy, but repeatedly shooting it onto the pavement and laughing about it each time I bent over to retrieve it and wipe it off. Harry was busy with his airplane impression, constantly knocking into bystander's thighs with his outstretched arms. Eventually, after way too many naughty looks, Tim scooped him up and held him still, as I was already busy holding Nicholas the human cannon. He called after Constance, who kept wandering over to a group of children behind us. "My name is Beatrice," she corrected seriously, pursing her lips and crossing her arms over her chest, just like Magda does when she is annoyed. "You have to follow the rules!" Tim cocked his eyebrow at me in confusion. God, what a sexy look. I shrugged in ignorance.

Tim confessed to me while the children were marveling at the view that he had hoped that we could have had a private champagne capsule ride all to ourselves, but that it was nice just to see me again. He apologized again for the weeklong absence and then took my hand in his. Hmmm. Such soft, well-manicured hands he has.

"Bri…Brandy, why didn't Uncle Mark come?" Constance asked. "Mummy said you were going to get married like Cinderella and Prince Charming. If I was a good girl you might let me be a flower girl."

Tim released my hand and looked at me quizzically. "Um…well, Uncle Mark and I decided that getting married was not such a good idea."

"Are you mad at him?"

"No," I lied, maybe a bit too harshly. Didn't really need to explain to a just turned 4-year old the depth of contempt I felt for former fiancé.

"Uncle Mark is sad when he comes to see Daddy."

"Did he say he was sad?"

"No but he looks sad. He doesn't talk very much."

Gave Tim a passing glance while scooping Constance up. "Well, Miss Beatrice, let's not worry about Uncle Mark today, ok? Mr. Tim here, said that he would take all good boys and girls to the zoo after our ride. Doesn't that sound like fun?" She clapped and cheered.

Thought I was out of the woods, but then, "What happened to your yellow hair?" Ugh! Thankfully Tim was out of earshot tending to Nicholas. At least I think he was.

Spent the rest of the day at the London Zoo. Had a triumphant time with only minor incidence. Only once did Harry try to climb the rails to get closer to the monkeys, and aside from a small spitting episode in the petting zoo with the llama, all was fantastic.

Tim was a prince, and am now certain that self will be a brilliant mummy with or without Mark Darcy's help.

Finally able to collapse into bed after 4th attempt to get Nicholas settled in his cot, without waking the other two.

Can hardly wait to see Tim Windham again...alone.

**Wednesday January 23**

**9:45am **"Dating", blogging, and Googling have now become the central part of self's daily existence. In fact, it would seem that the vast majority of my life now is spent sitting on my arse, either in front of a computer screen or in front of a plate full of food.

**10:30am** It would seem to me that in many cases when people sign up for online matchmaking, one of two conclusions can be drawn:

He/She is an honest, nice person, but desperation has set in, as have now reached an age where it is literally impossible to meet someone who is not already married, living with someone, or under "psychological observation" for unlawful stalking.

He/She is a dishonest and not so nice person and despite the fact that he/she is already married, already living with someone, or is under "psychological observation" for unlawful stalking, is looking for someone who has become desperate.

Overall, it has been fun talking with strangers with total anonymity, and must admit that am loving self's new persona, if only on a temporary basis. Have met a lot of fantastic people in this process, as well as some really…really needy or freaky ones.

This is how it stands so far:

Have met 2 men who for some unearthly reason brought their children along on the date. One spending the entire time sulking about how much he missed his son's mother who had run off with the refrigerator repairman. The other having to leave early because his daughter had to be taken to the hospital for an emergency kidney bean-in-the-nose extraction, but not before making it unashamedly obvious that he was looking for little more than a care-giver for his three unruly children. Ugh! Hadn't he seen Nanny McPhee? Get a nanny!

Then there was the one who in his letters said he was looking for a nice girl in her 20s or 30s who was looking for "adventure beyond the horizon". Sounded intriguing so I asked him to meet me for a non-alcoholic drink at the pub, for me anyway. Said I'd know him by the chain around his neck. Excuse me? Was not literally a chain but a large neck-encompassing tattoo. Turned out to be a biker with arms and legs resembling the Sistine Chapel. Nice chap though, just a bit too…colorful for my taste. Not that was really looking.

A few days later found self staring across plates of linguini at Ray, a bloke who appeared to have no teeth. Spent entire dinner listening to his tragically misguided Tory views on tax reform, trying to figure out if he actually had teeth. His lips were so plump in combination with his goatee, could not see past them when he spoke. He laughed at absolutely none of my jokes and we debated practically everything from politics to what time the sun rises in the morning and yet, at the end of the date as he walked me to my car, he leaned in for a goodnight snog. Was fully prepared to shun his advances but then I saw him. Mark Darcy was staring directly at me from an outdoor table of the same restaurant we had just left. He was sitting with Nigel and Giles. Took a deep breath and kissed the toothless Tory full on the mouth making my mock lust look as convincing as possible. Even Ray was caught off guard by my aggressiveness. Turns out that he had teeth after all.

Have found the quickest way to scare away a man is to tell him that am pregnant. Even the most aggressive pursuers, and there have been a few, turn tail and run as fast as their legs can carry them. When Daniel slinks from hiding in the shadows across the room to ask where the bloke had gone in such a hurry, I simply reply that I had told him I had contracted a disease from a former lover. The sad, unfortunate truth of the matter is that pregnancy is beginning to feel like a disease because no one wants anything to do with me because of it.

And then there are those dates that do not actually come to fruition because inevitably, and thankfully, it slips that he is not as he claimed to be…Upon first impression is a 40 year old gardener for Westminster Abby, but in actuality is a pubescent 14 year old from Westminster who earns an allowance by mowing his grandmum's garden on Saturday afternoons. There have been several of this type, especially on the free dating sites…no allowance required.

Or there are the ones that stretch the truth, literally, by claiming to be taller, shorter, thinner, or heavier. Royce from a few nights ago told me he was 41, a podiatrist, divorced twice with 2 children, 6'1, with muscular build as a result of working out everyday. Sounded like a real health-conscious hunk…with a brain. Hmm (Not that was looking.) However, would not have recognized him if he hadn't been carrying a bouquet of flowers, a clichéd tactic universally recognized as an offering from guilt-ridden or insincere males of our species who have either lied, cheated, forgotten something v. important, or want something but have virtually no chance in hell of getting, namely a randy shag up against the wall of self's flat after the first date. (Have vowed never to fall for that last one again.) In this instance, it was the first. He was 5'6 and skinny…almost emaciated really. He said that he was afraid that I wouldn't meet with him if I knew the truth beforehand. I went through with the date, but told him that I could never go out with him again, not because he is vertically and horizontally challenged, but rather, if he was capable of lying in a situation where he knew he would be caught, how could I trust that he wouldn't lie to me again. Wish I had heeded my own advice on that one when handling Daniel Cleaver on more than one occasion. I, of course, described myself quite honestly: dark medium length hair, green eyes, a bit on the petite side, slightly chunky. Well, honest for the purpose of me being there anyway.

And Lord only knows how many of them are already married. Scary really. Googled an article a few days ago stating that 40 percent of men pursuing women online are misrepresenting themselves in some way, giving them a chance to be someone they are not. Unfortunately, for the most part, am still waiting for the other 60 percent to show up for the party. Arriving fashionably late I must assume.

Why is it that people, male or female, are so inclined to lie to potential girl or boyfriends to make themselves sound better as if to tell the other person what they think the other person wants to hear to suit some sort of ideal? Fear of failure…rejection? Or is it insecurity that drives people to say and do stupid things? I could certainly write a self-help book on that subject. Well not exactly a self-help book so much as self's autobiography. The fact of the matter is if you are dishonest or unable to communicate your true feelings with those that you supposedly want to get to know better, how could anyone ever hope to find their one true love that will love them just as they are unconditionally. I think this must have been where Mark and I fell short.

Must really try not to cock things up with Tim.

**Saturday January 26**

_Weight: 9st7; Ideas about how to tell Mark that he's going to be a father: 0; Celebrity births: 3; Reconciliations: 1; Boyfriends: 1; Big decisions: 1_

**9:45am** Am now over a month pregnant. According to pregnancy book, baby is the size of the letter "o". V. small, but even so, her brain, spinal cord, and even her heart is starting to form. How can all of those things fit into an "o"? A micromini-Mark and me. In 7 more weeks, should be able to hear her heartbeat. Goody! By that time, I suppose I owe it to Mark to let him know what's going on. When he undoubtedly demands to know why I didn't tell him sooner, can v. easily say that I've only known for a few days. It's only because I've been unusually sick that I found out when I did, so early. How on earth do I tell him?

So many babies being born this year, including self who will have little one of my v. own by year's end and just shy of self's 36th birthday. Everyone feeling the need to nest I suppose. First Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin. Perhaps they think the Apocalypse is coming soon…I mean Armageddon. All these biblical icons like the apple, but not sure Bible ever said anything about an apple...no...I don't think so. Could very well have been a forbidden kumquat or kiwi. Or as lovely Colin Firth says in Secret Laughter of Women, a tomato. Now Gwyneth and Chris have a son named Moses. Perhaps this is a sign that the Thames is going to split in two and London will wash away. Come to think of it, am quite partial to Biblical names as well.

Then there's the ironic double birth of Tom and Katie with their silent birth, and Tom's arch nemesis Brooke Shields just down the hall. Brooke, I would assume, having a normal birth with loving husband Chris by her side. Of course poor Katie ended up having an epidural. What sane person wouldn't have seen that coming? V. difficult to imagine that one could remain silent while small being is ripping from one's loins. Hear that fellow Scientologists, John Travolta and Kelly Preston were present for the birth as well. Having father of baby present for blessed event is one thing, but inviting his friends as if miracle of life is a spectator sport is quite another. Would be like me inviting Jeremy and Giles into delivery room. Not even certain that I want Mark present as will have lost all right to viewing of self's naughty areas.

Now have read that Madonna and Guy are making it their top priority to have another baby, in what everyone is saying is an attempt to prolong their troubled marriage. Same thing for Britney and Kevin. Could see that happening with Mark and me. Being of noble stock, he likely will offer some half-hearted proposal when he finds out about our upcoming bundle of lifelong responsibility. But how long could it last really? Eventually he'd grow frustrated…I'd get bored and we'd end up here again. Wherever here is.

**3:25pm **Am excited by the prospect of beginning a new relationship. It's beginning under false pretenses, yes, but as Jude and Shazzer explained the other night, why not give it a go if an opportunity of renewed happiness presents itself during this assignment. Tim Windham might just be my happy ending...assuming, of course, he would be willing to help raise another man's child. That is the real question now, isn't it? It's not just about me anymore. Will have to find someone who accepts and loves _us_ just as we are. Am afraid to tell him. Have used pregnancy proclamation as an exit strategy before, but not so sure that I want to scare this one away. So right now, the two closest possibilities are Tim and Daniel Cleaver. My overprotective friends can form all of the opinions about Daniel that they want, but the fact remains, he does protect and care about me in his own misguided way, whether it's love remains to be seen, but there is something undeniable there between us.

**4:20pm** Daniel just rang to confirm our plans for dinner tonight. We're getting on better now. Hard for me to stay angry with him because he makes me laugh so. And when he behaves himself he is quite a brilliant conversationalist and surprisingly knowledgeable about the world around him. Unfortunately, v. few women ever see that side of him. Am glad that I can. Didn't tell him, but had double scheduled myself. Sort of a sleazy Daniel move, but when Tim called, I didn't want to say no to the invitation, and I didn't dare refuse Daniel again. Two dinners shouldn't be a problem as so often now have ferocious appetite in manner of Were-Rabbit. Might just need to do bit of Wallace and Gromit role-play and allow Tim to capture me. Hmmm… 

**8:15pm** Dinner with both men was lovely, though couldn't help feeling a bit tartish. Daniel was on his best behaviour and seemed charmingly jealous of Tim. Told him I'd ring him later. Tim was everything I hoped he would be…handsome, charming, funny, and handsome…oh, already said that. We chatted about art, music, films, food, and politics (Gaaahh! Another Tory.) Discovered that aside from being much more versed in music and pop culture, he and Mark actually have a lot in common…including being a fantastic kisser.

Was just getting out of the car when a familiar figure in blue athletic outfit and trainers was rapidly approaching, likely running his usual path along Bedale Street and then back over to Holland Park Avenue. In the past few weeks had really been consciously trying to avoid being out in the street in front of self's flat during the hours of 7 and 8, as that is usually when HE runs past, being the hopelessly predictable creature of habit that he is. Must admit though that I have been watching from a bird's eye view most every evening just to hopefully catch a glimpse of him being the hopeless creature of self-destruction that I am. Have not been seeing him as often lately, as have been otherwise engaged. Tonight I do not wish to see him. Am in too good of a mood, having just had a fantastic evening out with self's new boyfriend.

Bugger! Here he comes….

Tried to hurry toward the door and unlock it, but in my panicked haste, dropped the keys.

"Hello," he wheezed, as I bent down to retrieve the keys. "How are you?" He was staring, while also holding his sides and catching his breath.

"Very well, thank you," I replied with as much brutal detachment as I could muster. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between us. "How is Rebecca?" I added, in a tone thick with insinuation.

"Pardon?"

"Don't 'pardon' me, Mark Darcy! You heard exactly what I said." He looked at me strangely. Thought perhaps he _didn't _hear me. He seemed nervous. Do I now make him nervous?

"I don't know. She's not working under me…er, professionally anymore." His already flushed from running face burning brighter now. "She's…um…working at Walker and Bradshaw in Ealing, where my brother used to practice before…oh." He stopped short, presumably realizing that I would have no interest in a drawn out explanation, especially if it involved my two least favorite people in the universe.

"Humph…and personally?"

"Bridget, I was never seeing her. I told you…" he replied a bit defensively, but them immediately seemed regretful. His voice awkwardly trailed off again.

"Oh yes, just shagging her! It doesn't matter anymore." I lied. "Forget it!" I put my hand out in a motion of dismissal and turned from him toward the door to make a second attempt at unlocking it.

"Are you seeing anyone?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Turned back toward him. "And he is lovely." Mark pressed his lips together tightly and inhaled heavily, wincing a bit as he did.

"I see." He breathed heavily and seemed as if he was in a bit of discomfort. "I'm glad that you're happy."

Right. V. Happy.

More uncomfortable silence passed. He continued to stand there but was looking around a bit. "Look Mark, I'd better…" Made a gesture toward the door.

"I saw you a few weeks ago…on Oxford Street. Um…you were coming out of that baby shop with your friends carrying a baby basket." Uh-oh! "I was having lunch with a client near by and just happened to be driving by..."

"Oh…uh, we saw Seal and followed him in," I replied a bit more cheerily, recalling the memory. "The basket was for a friend at work who is having a baby."

He apparently wasn't even concerned about my purchases. "You saw a seal in the baby shop?"

Began to chuckle at his unintentional blunder. "Not _a_ seal…_Seal_…the pop singer. Married to Heidi Klum?" An expression of non-recognition washed his face. "The supermodel?."

"Oh, sorry." He smiled shyly. He looked so sweet looking up at me on the doorstep. "I hope that Sharon didn't say anything to scare him," he said wryly. I smiled.

"No, that time it was Jude." Began to laugh, he did too. It felt good to share a light moment with him again. His eyes were so fixed on me. If it had been anyone other than him, I'd have been unnerved by it. Our laughter dissipated.

"I'm sorry for staring. You look…just…so beautiful."

"You cannot say things like that to me, Mark Darcy. It was you who decided that I was not good enough for you. Remember?" I told him that I hated him the night I returned his ring. How can I hate him when he says things like that to me…and with those eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

I was already beginning to feel the effects of the exclusive pity party I was about to have once behind closed doors of my lonely flat. Shut my eyes for a few seconds to draw the tears back.

"I had better go," he announced sullenly, stepped back from the step. Wanted desperately to reach out and pull him close…to feel the intoxicating warmth of his sweaty manliness. Feared that if I did, I'd never be able to let go.

Regaining composure, cleared my throat and spoke. "Yes, I need to call Daniel." He looked both surprised and hurt.

"That's not who you are dating is it?" He responded with wounded expression.

"No. He is my work colleague and friend. Unlike you, I wasn't lying when I told you this before…regardless of what you believe." Cursed myself for allowing my anger to resurface.

He stood silent for a moment, still staring but not with the same glint as from a few moments before, his lips slightly parting then coming together again as if he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the correct words. Finally he spoke, "I see. I'd better go." He turned and began to walk toward his home.

Got to the second floor landing, turned and bolted back down the stairs, out the door, and onto the pavement. "Mark, are you ok?"

But he was gone.

Gut wrenching tears began to fall the second I closed the door. Not sure if more from anger over his weak attempt to flatter me as if nothing has happened, sadness of wanting Mark so desperately in spite of everything…or anger at myself for needing him so. Who was I kidding? Tim…or Daniel…or anyone else for that matter, could never replace Mark Darcy and all his haughtiness as the one true love of my life. For the first time in weeks, desperately wanted…needed a drink and a fag…two out of three of the unholy trinity. 

Pulled out the knitting needles and half completed baby jumper and tried looping a few rows, but could not concentrate. Kept making the loops backward. Ate a half bag of crisps instead.

"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!"

Paced the room. Picked up the phone…then put it down…picked it up again, searched directory and pressed send. "Hi…it's me. Can I come over?"

**-----Note:** The Globe Pub/Bridget's flat, as well as Borough Market are actually in Southwark, a distance from Holland Park where Mark lives. It was Sharon Maguire/Helen Fielding, not me that changed the location of her home to the Notting Hill area (in the films) so that Bridget and Mark's homes would be closer together (Mark isn't actually a marathon runner). However, I kept the actual street name, though geographically out of place.


	18. Chapter 18 Sex and Lies

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XVIII

Sex and Lies

**Sunday January 27**

_Weight: 9st 6; Number of much needed shags: Unclear; Testicular-looking objects consumed: 1(v. bad)_

**8:50am** 10 minutes outside the door pacing, deciding whether or not to ring the bell…to tell him the secret I'd been keeping that would change his life…our lives forever, and if I did, how would I say it? The question has plagued me for weeks.

Knocked instead and he answered quickly. Wondered if he had been on the other side of the door pacing as well, awaiting my arrival. He was still wearing the blue athletic outfit, though the jacket was now unzipped, exposing the gray t-shirt beneath, and his feet were bare. He ushered me in quickly and shut the door to keep the chill out. The erratic London air was gearing up for yet another forecasted snowstorm to arrive shortly. Strange that we've had so much snow this year. Omen? As if reading each other's minds, we disappeared into each other's eyes. Those eyes…Those entrancing and soulful golden-brown eyes. Yes, this is going to happen, told myself. "What are we doing?" Placed my hand gently against his chest and inched closer, lowering my voice to a whisper. "I know you still want me as much as I want you." His changed expression and pounding heartbeat confirmed that he had been mulling over the same thoughts. "We're supposed to be together…and I have proof, my love." Was it a proclamation? A suggestion? Or a necessity?…It was something. No. It was everything.

What I had to say was v. important, yes, but surely it could wait just a bit longer…our carnal longing could not. He pulled me in and up against the wall of the entryway, cocooning me with his warmth, his breath quickening with desire, his fingers tracing the curve of my jaw in feathery strokes. Our mouths first met with the gentle sweetness of a first kiss, but our bodies were already too well acquainted for that to last with much satisfaction and so within seconds things progressed to fiery necessity. His hands were now roving over my breasts and down the folds of my skirt and then eventually the zipper in a manner that was…well…usually more Daniel's mode of seduction. Hmmm… It took little more than a tug of the drawstring for him to be free from the confines of his gym trousers. There simply was no time for thoughts of propriety or decency. Any were fleeting at best. With our bodies primed, our emotions in overdrive, we belonged only to each other. He grabbed the backs of my bare thighs and lifted me to him, his lusty aggressiveness causing me to shudder with anticipation. Encircled one leg around his waist and the other braced me against the wall to provide leverage to drive against him. Eased my head back against the wall, exposing my neck as a place for him to tease with his hot breath, lips, and tongue while I raked my hands through his curlier than usual, windblown hair. I let his passion enrapture me completely. He moaned throatily into my hair, while with my chest heaving and back arching, I was a bit more uninhibited. Every thrust seemed to impale him deeper, as well as the unfortunately located wall switch into my back. No words between us, only pleasure sounds as our bodies intensely reconnected. His body finally collapsed against mine when the moment came, both of us breathless and dripping from body heat. A moment of recovery was all that was necessary until he had the strength to whisk me up into his strong arms, maneuver through the sea of strewn clothes, and carry me to the bedroom at the top of the stairs where we made love again in more traditional fashion as if no time of separation had passed at all. But then the strangest thing happened…he slowly inched himself backward toward the foot of the bed…then dissipated into a cloud of fog.

"Mark?…Mark?" The room came into focus. I wasn't in Mark's house at all…or his bed. The morning sun was streaming brightly through the windows. Too brightly.

"Morning Sunshine! Did you say something?" Tim emerged from the loo wearing dark maroon underpants, grinning ear to ear…like a man who had recently had the best shag of his life, and sat next to me on the bedside. He kissed my cheek sweetly then wrapped his arms around me. "Sweet dreams?"

Threaded my arms around his bare, fuzzy chest and rested my chin on his shoulder. "Yes, very."

"Good," he whispered, as he trailed my neck and shoulders with his lips…such soft lips. Hmmm... Am with a perfectly lovely man now and everything will be super. Will try not to overanalyze or obsess over smutty dream with ex-fiancé, or the fact that I am not who self's current boyfriend thinks I am. We began snogging feverishly and rolling around in manner of a couple of lust-filled virgin teenagers on the verge of deflowering. Tim stopped only for seconds to disrobe again quickly.

"Oh God!" Wiggled from beneath him, sprang out of bed, and headed for the loo dragging the bed sheet with me. "Damn morning sickness!" I cursed to self. Can't even have a decent shag without something going wrong.

"Are you alright in there?"

"Yes, of course. I…I'll be right out," I shouted over the loo fan I'd flipped on to mask any unpleasant sounds. V. difficult to be silent while insides are trying to wage war and escape in violent revolt. Still in loo, rummaging for mouthwash and toothpaste. Would normally refrain from bathroom cupboard snooping until at least second visit. Bollocks! Had to brush teeth and tongue with sodding finger. Hate being sick and deceitful away from home.

Dropped sheet and stared at ghastly reflection in mirror. Eyes were red and burning from having kept green contacts in all night and self's back was aching fiercely. Turned to find a bright red gash. Gaahh! That magnificently vivid dream actually did happen, but with the wrong…er, different man. Or rather, it happened twice. V. confusing. Read somewhere that this is called subconscious emotional transference…others just call it wishful thinking. Hope I remembered his name during… Will not mention unless he asks.

Tim was near the door with his underpants back on when I reemerged rewrapped in sheet. "Are you sure that you are alright, darling?" That's what Mark called me! Don't want Tim calling me that, and certainly won't help keep things straight in self's mind. Am already finding self making constant comparisons. Not good for healthy relationship according to any self-help book ever written.

"Um…I sort of like what you called me earlier…Sunshine, was it?"

"Sunshine it is," he smiled and kissed my lips lightly, his brilliant chocolate brown eyes beaming. "How is your back?" He moved to take a look, but held bed sheet tightly to my body, feeling self conscious of ever-so-gradually expanding appearance in addition to preexisting wobbly bits. "I'm terribly sorry about that. If I had known, I never would have gotten so carried away." His eyes darted to the floor as if embarrassed by his seeming lack of discretion. "I should have been more observant…I didn't want our first time to be so…so…"

"Pornographic?" I offered, with a playful smirk.

"Yes, exactly. Pornographic. It's just that I was so thrilled when you rang…and then to see you standing there, I just couldn't help myself."

Tim was so adorable, trying to apologize for his behaviour like a bashful child, though his naughty act was anything but childish. "Don't apologize. You were absolutely fantastic." And he really was. "You, kind sir, are a very passionate and quite naughty man." We both chuckled salaciously before sharing a long, lovely snog. Then I announced that I had to go. Was actually feeling quite horrid and needed to lie down without distraction for a bit. Had been praying that nausea didn't return until I had successfully extracted myself from Tim's townhouse…which was easier said than done.

He resembled an adorable puppy whimpering for me to take him home with me when he asked what I was doing today. "Working," was my response. Had no choice but to be vague. On our first date, had "invented" Brandy's occupation as a clerk in a women's clothing shop but never gave any specifics. Less lying the better. Was already in deep enough. No wonder I was warned not to get personally involved…it's exhausting…but so far, v. worth the exhaustion.

"Really? May I visit you at work? You know, in case I start to miss you?" He winked lustily before pulling me back into another passionate embrace. Certainly cannot say that Tim Windham isn't persistent.

Feeling as if Mt. Bridget might erupt again at any moment, I began to weave another tale, but this time in attempt to make "Brandy" more legitimate. Explained that I was actually going to be out scouting new jobs in the publishing and journalism field, which is actually what my college degree was in. (Yeah! Not a lie.) Maybe I can somehow right this falsehood that has been created so that he just might not chuck me when he finds out the truth. And I have no doubt that he will find out. He has to find out. Am looking forward to the day when I can proudly tell him that I am a television journalist, my name is Bridget Jones, and that he was a guinea pig in my assignment. At least he started out that way. Hopefully we can have a good laugh about it…someday. Can really see self settling down and having a family with Tim. He is perfect!

"Well, I'm not sure how productive your search will be on a Sunday, but good luck." He gave me an odd little smirk. Fuuuccckkk!

Barely made it out of the house before self's insides became all twisted, and more than likely have now murdered new boyfriend's geraniums. "Yes my little one. Mummy will also have to tell him about you." Double Fuuuuccckkk!

**1:00pm** Was not able to rest long. Had a 2:00 lunch "date". Things are getting complicated and tiresome. Wish I could just tell Tim everything, but don't want to be sacked for breach of contract. Ugh!

**12:20am **Home from date with Tim. Took me to dinner at Ping Pong in Soho. Have never been before, but had long ago taken notice of the sign outside which read, "Little steamed parcels of deliciousness" in reference to traditional Chinese dish, dim sum. Have passed this sign many times, every time Jude, Shaz, and I jokingly inventing different vulgar interpretations of it's meaning. Was excited to be trying something new with lovely, thoughtful man…until the waiter put the plate in front of me. Holy Hell! Perhaps had not been so far off the mark. Looked as if self had just been served a plate full of steamed human testicles…and then proceeded to drop testicle into lap as tried unsuccessfully to grip the questionably edible oddity with chopsticks for closer inspection. Tim laughed hysterically as I cursed the little bugger and fumbled with the utensils. He dared me to taste it, promising that it tasted like chicken. Why do people always say that? Ugh! This coming from same culture that eats puppies. Tasted more like a camel testicle wrapped in a sweaty gym sock…not that self would have any particular point of reference…just a hunch. Oddly enough, baby doesn't seem to object to things resembling male naughty bits. Like mummy, like daughter.

Simple task of eating noodle soup proved to be no less an ordeal, as was laughing so hard at something that Tim had said, rubbed tear from eye causing green contact to fall into soup. Found self staring at handsome date looking like creepy Marilyn Manson-type clone…one green eye, one blue. Nice man. Says my blue eyes are like brilliant limpid pools of natural ocean beauty. Hmmm…

Had a lovely shag when we got back to self's flat. Flattery will get him everywhere.

Awoke later to find him gone…a note was on his pillow saying that he'd ring me tomorrow.

**Friday February 1**

_Weight: 9st 6; Double-crossing friends: 2; Likelihood of peaceful weekend: 0_

**1:30pm** Have actually not seen Tim as much as I would have liked in the last week, both of us being quite busy with our respective jobs, but that will all change starting today. Hurrah! Am heading out for weekend holiday with self's perfect and extremely sexy boyfriend. Magda rang a few days ago and invited me up to the country with her family and said I could bring a guest if I liked. It would just be an intimate family affair most of the weekend and then Jeremy was planning to practice for a curling match on the pond. Will be our first gathering with friends, excluding impromptu lunch date with Jude and Shazzer yesterday where they proceeded to grill poor man about his intentions toward me like a second set of overprotective, embarrassing parents. I dare say that Tim is a bit frightened of Shazzer now, especially after she expressed a genuine interest in torture after viewing Braveheart on DVD. She likened him to Mel Gibson's character, William Wallace, who was taken to the tower where he was tied to horse's tails and hanged until nearly dead, then disemboweled and decapitated. Actually she began to go down a whole sundry list of chest ripping, toe screws, and the rack, all the while staring at Tim as if to say, 'If your intentions are not honorable, this could be you!' Could not escape notice of Tim's rather pale appearance as all blood seemed to rush from his gorgeous face. Assured him that Magda was more…er, civilized.

**4:15pm **Just rang Magda to let her know that I was bringing a friend…a boyfriend. She acted v. surprised and even detected some disappointment. Why is it so surprising that I could have a new boyfriend, as if self is damaged goods and unlovable. Had to explain the whole dreaded situation about the job, the name, and the hair. At least didn't have to wear sodding contacts anymore. She was less than pleased to hear that her children were pawns in my deception as well. "Bridget, the whole damn thing is going to blow up in your face. Just tell him the truth. Relationships based on a lie never work out. Blah…blah…blah." If self had wanted a lecture, would have called Mum.

**7:15pm** **Wiltshire countryside. Magda and Jeremy's cottage** Have safely arrived at lovely friends' 2-story recently renovated thatched cottage on currently frozen over pond. Not nearly as expansive and elegant as their home in Holland Park, but quite charming. How lovely it would be to afford a second romantic getaway. Wonder if exterminators can afford such luxuries. He does have a v. nice townhouse and car after all…sort of similar to Mark and Jeremy in that respect. Am so thrilled that Tim is by my side. Am sure he will be a triumphant success with self's dear friends Magda and Jeremy. The four of us will all become fantastic inseparable friends who attend book club meetings, play Bridge on Saturday nights, and take our children/stepchildren to play dates together. Excellent progress.

**9:30pm** Doom! Mark just arrived! What the hell is he doing here? So much for a lovely weekend. Stared daggers at Magda from across cozy rustically furnished lounge. She smiled meekly and shrugged. Squeezed Tim's hand tightly.

Feeling betrayed by people thought to be self's friends. But realize now they will always be "Mark's friends". Really want nothing more than to drive back to London straight away. Surely poor Tim is feeling the same.

Magda insisted that we at least stay until morning. Barely said two words to Mark and retired early to bed. Guess I should be grateful that Magda is allowing Tim and me to share a room.


	19. Chapter 19 The Best Man

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XIX

The Best Man

**Saturday February 2**

_Weight: 9st 6; Midnight shags: 1; Number of people that now know am pregnant not counting self and obstetrician: 4; Secret conversations: 2; Realizations that self has created an absurd situation: At least 10 in last 24 hours; Number of walls that could close in on self due to absurd situation: All of them; Jealous ex-boyfriends: 1; Jealous boyfriends: 1_

**1:15am **Disastrously unable to sleep. How could dear friends do such a horrible thing, inviting Tim and me…and Mark for the same mini-break? The cottage was so silent that it was unsettling. Tim is lying next to self, burrowed beneath the warmth of the goose down duvet with only his handsome face visible, sleeping soundly. Resembles small, hibernating woodland creature.

**1:17am** Trying v. hard not to think of gorgeous ex-fiancé lying similarly but alone in next room.

**1:18am** Cannot believe how fantastic he looked tonight. Having flashbacks of vividly saucy dream last week. Hmmm…

**1:21am **Gah! Must stay focused on current boyfriend. Yes. Tim. Love him.

**1:22am** How adorable Tim looks. Should surprise him with Eskimo kiss. He will wake up and we can have a long, romantic snog.

**1:23am** Shagging would likely be inappropriate in someone else's home, right?

**1:24am** Tried to surprise him. Made bizarre, unattractive snorty sound and rolled over. V. bad.

**1:45am** Slid slowly out of bed trying not to bring linens with self thereby disturbing precious bear cub-like figure, grabbed laptop from nearby desk as well as secret stash of pork rinds and Cadbury Milk Tray from holdall and padded downstairs to find a place to work. Unattended fire blazing brightly. V. strange…and dangerous. Will just curl up on the carpet to thaw toes. Need to catch up on some emails, and latest blog is late again. Bugger! Assignment almost over…thank God. Will then be able to stop covertly dating half of Greater London area, present award-winning story, tell Richard Finch to bugger off, and resume normal existence with normal boyfriend. Yes. V.G.

**1:55am** Gaahh! Mysterious, dark figure just shuffled in from outside and removed overcoat. Should arm self with fireplace poker, but too frightened to move. He (or she) picked up something from a table near the door and brought it to his lips. Hopefully ingesting rat poison if in fact is an intruder. Figure moved closer into view. Mark! Watched him finish off the glass in a gulp or two and take a deep breath, before disappearing into the downstairs loo and then the kitchen. He reemerged a few moments later with full glass again in one hand and a bottle in the other. He deposited the bottle on the dining table and continued on into the adjoining lounge. He tripped ever so slightly over something before collapsing with a heavy sigh onto the sofa. Can hear him breathing, deep and steady. Recall that same sound being such a comfort while lying next to him on so many quiet nights, just the sound of his soothing breathing lulling me to sleep. Sometimes his arms were around me, sometimes not, but always reassuring me that I was safe and loved.

Was v. dark in the room except for the fire and faint glow from the laptop screen. He didn't even notice I was there.

**6:30am **Had a v. emotionally wavering chat with former fiancé last night. Am now more conflicted than ever. This is how it went…

"Can't sleep?" Startled him and he jerked his head forward off the back of sofa.

"Jesus Bridget! I didn't see you sitting there."

"Obviously."

"What are you doing…besides trying to scare the hell out of me?" He barked defensively, dabbing at the wet spot now on the front of his jumper.

"Well I wasn't down here hoping for a secret rendezvous with a pissed bastard, that's for certain."

"So does that mean that you won't be joining me?" He gestured to the glass in his hand then took a sip. "It's not Chardonnay, but still an excellent vintage."

Ugh! Would kill for a drink. "No thank you. I've given it up…cigarettes too." Was sort of hoping that he'd be proud of the accomplishment, even though in actuality had no reasonable choice in the matter.

"What's the occasion? Lent? Oh wait, it's only February." Couldn't tell if he was trying to be rude or make a joke. Part of me wanted to storm out and leave him sitting there with his whiskey…or whatever it was that he was drowning himself in, but I couldn't deny myself the tingly feelings of just being in his presence, regardless of how hopelessly masochistic those feeling might have been.

Bit into a pork rind and took a sip of milk. "Mark, why are you here?"

"Obviously I couldn't sleep," he announced, this time with an unmistakable tone of rudeness.

"I mean here at Magda and Jeremy's cottage."

"They invited me…I suppose we just have the terrible misfortune of having mutual friends, don't we? If you're asking why I came knowing that you would be here, I can most certainly assure you that I had no idea that you would be here with…what's his name. What is his name again?"

"Tim. His name is Tim and there's no reason for you to be such a prick about it."

"There's something about him that doesn't seem quite right."

"Oh could it be that he's with me and you are not?" Fiery heat rushed to my cheeks. He rolled his eyes but gave no verbal response. Ha! Hit a nerve. "Well you needn't worry. Tim and I will be leaving in the morning." Got up to leave.

"Oh before you leave, I've been meaning to ask you something." His voice was eerily calm. He took another sip.

"What?" I spat.

"I've noticed lately that you've been out with a number of people…men, and with a whole new appearance. Is there something that you're not telling us? A new profession perhaps?"

"How do you know what I've been doing?…unless you've been…"

He calmly continued, cutting me off…ignoring my accusation. "So this Tim, is he one of your…uh, clients?" He finally stood and sauntered over to the table to refill his glass.

"Mark Darcy I am on a very important assignment! I'm a professional journalist!"

"It appears that you are a professional…something." Could not believe what he was insinuating. Had never been so insulted in all my life and he was the last person I'd have ever expected it from. Reached out to slap him but he caught my wrist, his drink sloshing a bit onto the hardwood floor. Reflexively mixed tears of anger and hurt began to slide down my cheeks.

Like a schizophrenic entering another personality, his attitude changed just as quickly from horse's arse to remorseful lush. "I'm so sorry…please don't cry. I didn't mean…I'm just concerned about you." He set the half empty glass down. "I want to…" The facial contortions and fidgeting made it obvious that he was uncomfortable and frustrated with himself, not being able to translate his feelings into words. "How well do you really know him?" He pointed to the stairs. "The man suddenly walks into your life and you're ready to give him everything…"

"Mark…"

Heard faint shuffling footsteps on the stairs and then Constance's tiny face peeking around the large mahogany banister. "Mummy says it's not nice to shout." She sat on the bottom step, her little bare feet sticking out from beneath her flannel pajamas. She plugged her ears and stuck out her bottom lip.

Left Mark and sat down next to her. "It's ok. Uncle Mark and I were just talking too loud. Why don't you go back up to bed. We will be quieter…we promise."

"Did Uncle Mark make you cry?" She and I both looked over at him and then back at each other.

"No honey. Everything is just fine. Nothing for you to concern yourself with. Let's get you back up to bed before your little toes get cold, shall we?" Snatched at her toes playfully and she giggled. She took my hand and led me back up to her room.

In no time she was back in her bed and sound asleep. Had I an ounce of good sense, I'd have just gone down the hall and crawled back into bed with Tim, but though Mark was being an infuriating arsehole, I couldn't turn my back on him.

He wasn't there so I began to gather the now empty milk tray and crisp bag.

"You are very good with children." His low, sensual voice pierced the silence, startling me.

He must have seen me jump. "Sorry, I was in the loo." Again? Getting sick no doubt.

"You are going to be a fantastic mother someday." My heart stopped…or skipped several beats anyway. Had he somehow seen a vision of our child in the loo? "Have you and Tim ever talked about having a family?"

What? Where did that come from? "Of course not."

"Bridget, does he make you happy?"

"Yes, he does."

"Do you love him?"

That was the real question. Above all, that, I believe is what he wanted to know more than anything else. Do I love Tim? In just one month's time could I fall out of love with him and in to love with someone else?

Is it possible to love two men…romantic love, not love like you have for your cat, at the same time…and for different reasons? I can feel myself falling for Tim because he's sort of enigmatic and spontaneous. He never questions where I go or what I do. Maybe he enjoys the mystery as well. I don't know a lot about him, but he's fun to be with and has a fantastic sense of humor. On the other hand, there's Mark…Mark is kind and smart, witty in an understated way, and though he's accepting of the person that I am, he rarely hesitates to tell me when I've done or said something foolish. Sometimes I think I probably need to be reminded that though I am my mother's child, I do not have to _be_ my mother. But still, he loved me because of my unpredictability, not in spite of it. He has his faults of course, but he more than redeems himself in bed, he is…was a magnificent lover.

My answer to Mark, "I don't know." The troubled expression on his face melted my heart and I could feel tears welling up again but now due to sadness. I needed to be honest with him even if it hurts him.

And with that honesty came the desire to show him the work that I had been doing and the reasons behind my sudden popularity and to reassure him that I most definitely have not become a tart. We sat together on the floor in front of the fire leaned against the sofa. Reminded me of similar evenings in my flat when I would snuggle up to him, resting my head on his shoulder and we would talk about our day and sip wine. Sometimes he would tell me about a particular case he was working on, using words I didn't understand, but it didn't matter because I was just happy that he wanted to share it with me in the first place. Always made me feel so proud that he is so smart and successful, and yet still wanted to be with me. And now, though the circumstances have changed, I want him to be proud of my work as well. He read some of my blogs and reports, asking sincere questions about some and laughing at others. He seemed to actually enjoy reading my entries. When he got to my notes on my initial meeting with Tim he had plenty of questions.

"How do you know that you can trust him?" Was confused. "You did meet him on the internet. Obviously you know the risks."

"Why would he lie to me?"

He glared at me perplexingly. "Aren't you lying to him? For God's sake Bridget, he doesn't even know your name."

"Yes, but…"

"You're compromising your integrity as a journalist and as a person with all of this lying. It's an awful idea…even by your standards."

"By my standards? What is that supposed to mean?" I questioned in a sharp, whispered shout.

"I didn't mean that as badly as it sounds. You are very clever and resourceful and so you almost always seem to find a way to make things work in your favour. That's one of the things I admire…" He stopped speaking when his eyes met mine. He tucked a stray hair behind my ear. Could hear him swallow. Our faces were close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath. He looked as if he wanted to kiss me…I wanted him to kiss me…He didn't kiss me. "Bridget, just be careful. I don't want anyone or anything to hurt you."

None of this conversation was really about Tim or my job. It was about him…and me. It was about us. How do we go on from here?

"Mark…I don't think anything could ever hurt me as much as what you did and said that night." I know he knew what I was talking about. The hurt feelings from that night came welling up inside me and I blinked back tears yet again.

Silence. He rubbed his hand over his exhausted face.

"Bridget?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't mean what I said about being too good for you."

"Well if you didn't mean it, why did you say it?"

"I wanted you to hate me. I…I thought it would be easier…for both of us."

"Easier? Easier! You thought making me feel stupid and unworthy of standing in your presence would make it easier!"

"I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Those were dreadful things for me to say and not at all how I really felt."

Silence again.

"Let me ask you…Does your family really have that tight of a hold on you?" He lowered his head as if in shame. "Mark, don't live your life for other people…your family…and least of all, your brother. You're not like them. I know you. Look at me, Mark." He raised his chin to meet my gaze. "I know you. The money, the extravagant lifestyle…Sure it's nice, but it doesn't mean the same to you. You were brought up to be a certain way, with the haughty attitude, everything having to be folded neatly and put in its place, and the belief that showing your feelings is shameful, but I don't believe for one second that that's who you are. If that were true, you wouldn't have fancied me in the first place and you'd likely be living in America right now with that hoity-toity stick insect Natasha in a loveless marriage."

And still more silence. Was he thinking about what I had just said, or had he fallen asleep with his eyes open?

"I'm so sorry Bridget." I just don't think…" He seemed to take a gulping breath.

"What is it Mark? Tell me what you're thinking." For the first time since we had been sitting there…or since we had split up, I touched his face by placing my hand against his bristly cheek. Instinctively, with his eyes closed, his face followed my touch. His slightly parted lips ever so faintly grazed the edge of my palm, before pulling away completely.

"I just don't think that I can be the man that you need or deserve. I'd only disappoint you." My heart sank. And as if lapsing himself out of a hypnotic trance, he shot to his feet and headed toward the kitchen, taking his empty glass and near empty bottle with him.

"So…what? You don't want me, but you don't want anyone else to want me either!" He didn't respond. "You're absolutely right. I'd be miserable with you!" I shouted after him, not caring anymore who I woke. "You'd better have another drink. That always helps!" He glanced back at me without expression or reconsideration before disappearing.

Why did I say that? Why…why…why? It's certainly not what's in my heart. Wanted so badly to tell him that I still love him, despite the infidelity and the insults. And if he had only said that he still loves me too, as I am now fairly certain that he does, I'd chuck Tim without regret. Well, maybe some regret. Am not heartless.

Heard a "creak" on the stairs and seconds later Tim was staring down at me. "Who are you shouting at Brandy?"

"Oh, um…it's not important."

"I see." He glanced at the swinging door leading to the kitchen.

Tim extended his hand in gentlemanly fashion to help me to my feet. "Thank you for coming to look for me," I whispered as we ascended the stairs. "I might have fallen asleep. Can you imagine Jeremy and Magda finding me sprawled out on floor of their lounge in my jammies? That would be a sight, wouldn't it?"

"Lucky I woke up, huh?" He cupped my chin in his hands and kissed me gently. Glimpsed down again to find Mark standing in the kitchen doorway holding yet another drink gawking up at us.

Tim was staring right at Mark but said nothing. I kissed his cheek.

As soon as we got back to the room, any visitor's rules of etiquette were promptly expelled. I was hurting and needed him…needed someone.

Exhausted, we parted. He kissed my forehead, then rolled away. I turned away also so that he wouldn't somehow notice the tears in my eyes.

**7:30am** Despite having little sleep during the night, awoke early and headed down to the kitchen, both beckoned and repelled by the smell of hot porridge and bacon. Was a bit concerned that the aroma of greasy back bacon would send me over the edge, but was thinking positively and would excuse myself to the brisk 30 degree outdoors for a morning walk if it became necessary to flee. Magda was sitting at the kitchen table feeding Nicholas. Could hear the telly in a nearby room where Constance and Harry were likely parked watching Cinderella on DVD for the millionth time while eating dry Cheerios in the floor. If Harry grows up to be a poof, will be all his big sister's doing. No other adults in the house were stirring yet except for Magda.

"Ah, morning Bridget…er, I mean Brandy!" she corrected with noticeable disdain. "You're up early. Sleep well?" I lied and told her that I had. "I was up early with the kids, so I decided to start breakfast. Porridge, eggs, and back bacon alright with you?" Gave an uneasy smile and sat self down across from her and the baby, fearful that self's tummy would morph into a ticking time bomb of mass destruction at any moment. "Care to join me for some coffee?" She gestured toward the pot sitting in front of her. "Or perhaps some tea?"

"Tea would be lovely. Thank you. You don't by chance have any biscuits I can nibble on, do you? Tummy's feeling a bit out of sorts this morning." Went to the cupboard to retrieve a cup, took one look at the sizzling, grease-laden bacon on the cooker, cupped my mouth, and made a mad dash for the loo just down the hall from the kitchen. Fortunately had taken care to note location of all toilets in the cottage upon arrival yesterday in the event that covert baby decided to impart her presence objectionably.

"Good heavens, are you alright?" Magda asked with concern when I returned to the room moments later.

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be? Just a little tummyache is all." Trying to sound nonchalant. "I think maybe I'll just skip the tea and go out for a bit of fresh air. I'm feeling a bit warm actually."

"I just heard you. The interior walls in this old place are very thin, and that didn't sound like a person who is fine. Oh and by the way, we heard you _last night_ as well…Adjoining walls you know." My hand flew up to cover my face reflexively, recalling the impromptu midnight romp with boyfriend. Then tried to avoid any further eye contact by going to the fridge for a bottle of water. Magda stood up from the table, grabbed my shoulders to turn me toward her and stared intently into my eyes. "Bridget Jones, you're not…"

"Not what…a tart?"

"…pregnant, are you?" I remained silent. Really was no point in lying. Might actually ease some of my anxiety if I told someone, other than my three overly critical best friends that is. It was going to start to become blatant before long anyhow. "Oh Bridget! That's brilliant!" she expressed in a boisterous whisper. Started twirling round, squealing, and jumping with Nicholas crushed between us. Nicholas started to squeal too. She stopped twirling. "Oh no! This will kill Mark," Magda gasped. Actually, was thinking he would be over the moon. "Oh, but I'm so excited for you!" She giggled. "How far along are you?" Thank God for Magda. Perhaps the only person who truly understands how long I've dreamed of being a mother, and any impropriety on my part was less important than the fact that I am indeed pregnant and my dream was soon to come true.

"About 7 weeks." Until self became pregnant, always thought it absurd how parents announce the age of their child by weeks and months instead of years. But realize now that it has to do with development and milestones of growth. According to my pregnancy week-by-week book, this week my baby resembles a small oddly shaped aquatic mammal…bean sized and has arms and legs in form of four tiny fins. Goody! While lying in bed the other night, figured out that self is 1,822 weeks old. Am getting v. old…hopefully am fully developed. Mark is 2,028 weeks old…ancient, but am relatively certain that he is fully developed. V. smart man.

"That's a month and a half?" I said nothing, waiting for her to do the calculations. "Is the baby not Tim's?"

"No."

"Well then who IS the father?…Oh my God! Are you pregnant with Mark's child?" Had to shush her again. "You have to tell him! He needs…"

"Magda shush! You can't say anything to anyone…not even Jeremy. Right now Tom, Jude and Shazzer are the only ones who know." She tried to cut in. "As soon as I figure out a way to tell him, I will."

"Just tell him. What's the big dilemma?" She seemed to be fidgeting nervously. "Bridget, it's very important that you tell him…today."

"Are you mad! Tim's here! I'm not going to…"

The conversation ended abruptly when Constance, the town crier, bounded in and immediately ran over to sit on the lap of her favourite (and only) Godmummy. "You just have a natural way with children," Magda added with a wink.

**8:30am** All through breakfast, Magda saw to it that whenever one of the children needed tending to, it was Godmummy "Brandy" to the rescue as she pretended to turn her attentions elsewhere. Presumably she was trying to show Mark what an attentive and loving mummy I will be, though surely he had no idea why. Tim certainly seemed impressed and would whisper compliments and sweet nothings into my ear throughout the meal while rubbing my back. He's been pleasantly attentive this morning and also conversed freely with Magda, Jeremy, Constance, and even Harry. Mark seemed, on the other hand, to be cranky and much more focused on the fact that even the children had been roped into the charade and would cringe into his bowl of porridge any time the name Brandy was mentioned. Thankfully he played along, but never mentioned me by name, though he never actually spoke to me except once to ask for butter. So very different from last night when he was uncharacteristically candid. This morning he's hardly said two words to anyone. Probably hung over.

**9:30am** A bit later, Magda couldn't let the subject drop when she cornered me alone. "I'm really glad that you decided to stay." She smiled in that warm, motherly way that she has. "You know Bridge, it was no accident that Jeremy and I invited you and Mark for the same weekend."

"Oh yes, and what a brilliant idea it was to invite my current boyfriend as well."

"I had no idea you were bringing _a man_. I thought maybe Sharon would come with you." The visualization of athletically inept Shazzer throwing, and then subsequently cursing at a curling stone was cause for momentary musing from both of us.

"Anyway, I guess you have forgotten that Mark chucked me…and was quite ill-mannered about it in fact."

"Tim seems like a very nice man, but Bridget, it's only been a month!" Felt like one of her children being reprimanded. Tried to divert my eyes. "It's incomprehensible that you could replace Mark so quickly!" She was upset, and I can't say that I don't see her point. "I thought you said he was the love of your life?"

"He is!" I blurted. "I…I mean he was."

"He needs you Bridget."

"What are you going on about Magda?"

"All I can say is that things aren't always as they seem. But then again, you would know a bit about that yourself, wouldn't you?" She left me alone with my thoughts. After last night, I too had the feeling that Mark was troubled and not just because he was pissed.

Jeremy had practically insisted that Tim help him bring in some firewood from the shed. When they came back in from the cold, Magda and I tended to our shivering men respectively. Why wasn't Mark helping? Where was he anyway? Come to think of it, hadn't seen him since breakfast.

"Let him sleep a while longer, then I'll go up and wake him," Jeremy replied when Magda asked what was keeping him. Jeremy and Mark are best friends, and have been for quite some time, but lately their bond seems to have become even tighter. If I didn't know better, would think they were having an affair, and if they were, Magda doesn't seem to be bothered by it in the least. V. strange relationship the three of them have.

**3:30pm** Was an awkward morning as Magda, Jeremy, Tim, the children, self, and then finally Mark all gathered at the frozen pond behind the cottage for a few curling practice matches before tomorrow's big competition. Though have now known Mark for a few years, did not learn until today that this is an annual event where several firms in the Law Council compete and even win cup trophies. Last year, Mark and I were on a "break" at the time, and the year before was still wasting self's time with Daniel. Tomorrow evening all will meet down at Fenton's Rink in Kent to compete in what promises to be some sort of male bonding testosterone fest.

Unclear as to why self was invited up for the weekend as am relatively certain that am neither male nor a lawyer.

Actually, I knew exactly what was going on, but Mark isn't interested and I am otherwise occupied.

Nigel and Giles, unbeknownst to self, had been invited to practice for the match as well, but didn't arrive until we were already gathered by the pond. Tim was saying something to me, but wasn't really listening as was too busy watching the new arrivals as they made the rounds to greet everyone. Thought my heart was going to stop when Giles spotted us and began to lumber over.

Gaaaahhh! "Ah, Giles. How are you?"

"Very good. And yourself? You are looking well."

"Giles Benwick, this is my boyfriend, Tim Windham. He's an exterminator from Chiswick." Turned to Tim, "Giles is one of Jeremy's work colleagues." Later explained to Tim how self had bonded last year with Giles because of our comparatively unpretentious demeanors and squishy physiques. With him, I always knew that I would have at least one person to talk to at dull law functions. Aside from that, he sort of fancied me for a time after his wife left him.

"Boyfriend, eh Brandy?" He continued to speak but was directed at Tim. "She's a lovely girl, …" Hope my shock wasn't too apparent. How did he know? ESP? Craned my neck around to scan the crowd and caught Mark's eye. He gave me sort of a sideways smirk. Mark told him?…of all people. "So Mr. Windham, have we met before? You seem terribly familiar."

"No I don't believe so."

"Oh, well are you of any relation to the Windham's of Devonshire?"

"Sorry again. My family hails from Cardiff actually."

"Ah, lovely. Must be mistaken then old chap. My apologies." He shook Tim's hand. "Let's crack on then, shall we? Who is casting the first stone?" Giles asked directing his attention back to the group.

Magda was in charge of the children so I wound up getting my first lesson in curling to even out the number of players. As it turned out, Tim is quite a skilled curler and so for the first time since we'd arrived he didn't stand out like a three-legged giraffe in a cage full of monkeys. Was very glad to see that at least something out of this weekend was not going to be awkward as arse for him…unless of course Mark decided to show his…figuratively of course.

Tim and Nigel were on my team, more likely I was on theirs. Tim was giving me pointers when Nigel said it was my go. "All right Brandy, you're up!" Actually was feeling quite embarrassed and uncomfortable by this time with everyone lying for me. Surely they were all of the same opinion as Mark and Magda that this was going to turn out badly. Must admit the charade is not one of my finer moments.

"Come on! Just get it to the hog line!" The men were shouting.

"Wot? Is that supposed to be some sort of joke!…" Threw my stone down in disgust into the snow near the frozen pond and placed my hands on my hips. They all began to laugh, including Tim. Had then fully expected them to launch into swine grunts and squeals. After making the crucial point that under no circumstances will I tolerate fat jokes from a bunch of overgrown children playing in the snow, they explained that the hog line was the line in the center by which I needed to get my stone past. "Oh. Right."

The practice match had gone well…in the beginning. Have discovered that am a naturally brilliant curler. Hurrah!

Only cocked up once when as I was about to cast a stone, Giles opened his big mouth. "So has anyone heard how our dear Rebecca is getting on at Walker and Bradshaw?"

Was so distracted that I sent the stone sailing way off to the right, narrowly missing Magda and Jeremy's neighbors who were out watching the game from the sidelines.

"What do you call that?" Magda shouted jokingly from the opposite sideline. Turned around and gave her a dirty look. The men were all mumbling something that I couldn't quite hear, but could probably guess, into Giles's general direction…except Mark. Tim didn't understand what had just happened. It's better that way.

"Let's just pipe down and let her have another go," Mark instructed meekly. Did I detect a note of awkward avoidance? He likely wished he could shove Giles's head into the snow just as he had Peter's once upon a time.

Tim came over to assist me with my throwing technique and I sent the stone sailing flawlessly toward the tee. He cheered me on and complimented me whether I was throwing or sweeping and I did the same for him. A few times he would pick me up and swing me around which of course piqued Constance's and Harry's interest in an airplane ride as well and they would scamper over. There was no shortage of kisses either. Those were all for me. Hmmm… Became embarrassingly obvious that Mark was jealous of Tim's attention toward me and _his_ Godchildren and was using the curling match as a way to vent his frustration. He seemed to go out of his way to one-up Tim's throws, sweeping techniques, and even toddler entertaining. This was not just a curling match. No, it was a battle of wits between the two men that I care about most. Really quite flattering. Must have been mentally taxing for him though as he took frequent trips to the sideline to join Magda and the children on the bench, Harry climbing over to sit on "Uncle" Mark's lap while Constance would playfully pelt him with 4-year-old fist-sized snowballs. I just know he will be a fantastic father. I can hardly wait to tell him…just not with Tim around.

Found self wishing I could hear what Magda and Mark were saying to one another. She was patting his knee as she spoke. Were they talking about me?

Part way through the second practice game, I was sweeping for Nigel when my sliders went one way but the rest of me went the other and I came crashing down face first onto the ice. Thankfully caught myself before my head actually made contact but ended up spread eagle on my stomach. Tried to stand but slipped again and fell backward flat on my bum and elbows. Meanwhile help was on the way in the form of who else? Tim and Mark with matching expressions of concern. They were both fawning over me, helping me to my feet, and walking me to the bench where I spent the remainder of the game as a spectator. Tim wanted to sit with me but I insisted that he continue playing.

Later I told Tim that I was ready to go home, even though we were due to stay until tomorrow morning. Explained to everyone that I was v. tired (which I was) and wasn't feeling well. Had to reassure them that I was not hurt from the fall. Actually, I _was_ worried about the fall…and the baby. Became positively obsessed with thoughts of Scarlett O'Hara losing her baby after Rhett Butler accidentally pushed her down the stairs. Doom!

**Monday February 4**

_Weight: 9st 7; Laptops returned: 1; Missed opportunities: 1 _

**6:10pm** Oh!Entryphone. Who could that be? Not expecting anyone. Maybe Tim has decided to cancel his trip.

**6:20pm** In my haste to leave Wiltshire, left laptop behind. Magda could have just as easily delivered it, but instead Mark and I found ourselves staring in silent awkwardness at one another on my doorstep.

"Thank you Mark. I guess I would have eventually needed this, wouldn't I? You know me, silly Bridget." Giggled nervously.

"Oh, so you are Bridget today? Is Tim not here?" He craned his head upward a bit to see into the empty lounge.

"I don't want to do this with you again. Thank you again for…" Gestured a dismissal.

"Forgive me." He seemed sincere. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thank you. The doctor said that there's nothing to worry about." Gaah! Didn't mean to say that.

"Doctor! You required a doctor's care?" He reached out and touched my arm gently.

"Nothing to worry about…Just being overly cautious I suppose." Smiled faintly. I should tell him. Tell him Bridget. Tell him! My brain was screaming, but I couldn't make the words come out.

The silence between us became deafening. He was aware of it as well. "Well, I should go."

"Right. You and I both know that you coming in would be a bad idea." Would it really? I mean...it could bloody well be the most fantastic idea I'd ever had in my life. Why did I say that? Take it back! Take it back! Was like I had no control over my thoughts at all.

"Right."

"Right."

"Bye then." He retreated from the doorway and descended the corridor stairs…out of sight. Closed the door and sat down on the stairs inside the flat. Rested my head in my hands. Was so dizzy and nauseous.

**Friday February 8**

_Weight: 9st 7; Self-destructive ex-fiancés: 1; Deceptions revealed: 2_

**11:50pm** Tim and I were sharing a lovely casual evening supper out, nothing at all fancy, just enjoying some burgers and each other's company. We hadn't seen much of each other during the week because he had left town again for a few days. Insect convention? No. He explained that he had a family commitment that had been arranged months ago. Though I would not have been able to go because of work and a doctor's appointment, was disappointed that he had not at least invited me to go with him. This was the second family meeting he had not invited me to. He told me that he v. much wanted me to meet his mum and dad, and would introduce me v. soon. Goody!

We were waiting for our dessert to arrive. Tim had excused himself to the loo and so I sat taking in the restaurant's ambiance…people watching…this particular restaurant just so happened to have an adjoining bar. Rowdy blokes throwing darts, pushing back more than a few too many pints after work, usually requiring a taxi escort home at night's end. Half expected Shaz and Jude to be lined up at the bar, but this was not a place we were known to frequent, but rather a more upscale crowd. Most men came in with their ties still hanging loosely around their necks.

Though my eyes could have been playing tricks on me, and I really wished they had been, I spotted the back of Mark's head at the bar. He was talking with someone sitting next to him that I didn't recognize.

Flew across the room. "Mark Darcy! What the hell are you doing!"

He turned to face me, v. obviously pissed out of his mind like he'd been sitting there for hours, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "Bridget!"

"Mark, what in God's name are you doing to yourself?" He looked at me pathetically with an unfocused stare. "So you're smoking now too?"

Diverted my attention to the young bartender. "Why the hell didn't you cut him off! I ought to have you sacked!" Was panicking and on the verge of tears. He just shrugged stupidly and walked away. Took the burning cigarette from Mark's hand and stubbed it out. "Come on. I'm taking you home!" Tim was just coming out of the loo when he spotted me trying rather unsuccessfully to get Mark to his feet without falling over. Whether he wanted to or not, Tim was going to have to help me.

Pulled up to his home, Mark staggered out of the passenger seat of his Mercedes and I tried to support his weight as best I could so that he would not trip. Tim pulled up in his own car and came to assist, wrapping Mark's opposite arm over his shoulder. Had never seen him so out of his mind. It scared me to think that he could become his father in quite this manner. The sensible man that he is, thought he knew better.

Just inside the door, Mark lost further control of himself and deposited the contents of his stomach all over the foyer floor. Regaining some composure, he allowed Tim and me to trudge him up the stairs and into his bed. He sank like a stone onto the pillow. I asked Tim to go down to the kitchen, instructing him where it was, to get a bottled water from the fridge. He obliged.

Alone now, I sat on the edge of the bed staring down at him. His eyes flipped open and closed as if passing freely between consciousness and beyond. "Oh Mark, why did you do this to yourself?" Touched his face, trailing my hand down to his chest. He was so warm…too warm. Stood up and removed his shoes and socks. Checked the doorway for Tim's return…doorway empty. Sat back on the bedside, removed the tie slung around his neck, and slowly began to unbutton his blue cotton shirt. Had never done that before without salacious expectations. He was wearing no undershirt. Ran my hand across his chest again. In a moment of consciousness, our eyes met, his almost appearing sober though I know it wasn't true. V. likely he would remember none of it in the morning. Instructed him to sit up if he could so that I could help him out of his shirt. Our faces were just inches apart, very much like the night at the cottage when I was so certain that he wanted to kiss me.

Felt his lips upon my neck. The familiar softness caused me to fall forward against him and I instinctively kissed his shoulder tenderly, running my hand over his smooth bare back. He wanted more. He tried to kiss my lips but couldn't allow myself that pleasure, though I longed for it. Besides, he was in desperate need of a toothbrush. "I love you Bridget," he breathed into my ear, returning his lips to my neck. A tear escaped down my cheek and absorbed into his shoulder.

"Mark, stop." It took everything I had to extract myself from his embrace. "You don't know what you are doing and I'm not going to do anything that I'm going to regret.." I didn't dare help him with his trousers.

"I'm so hot." If it weren't for the obvious beads of sweat dancing across his brow, I'd have thought it was a ploy to get me to stay with him. He reclined back onto the pillow with a pained sigh and appeared to be running a low-grade fever. Went to the adjoining bathroom to retrieve a wet flannel. He was asleep when I returned a short time later. Crawled onto the bed next to him, dabbing at his chest, cheeks, and forehead with the flannel. He didn't look well…not at all.

Placed my head on his chest as if listening to his heart and closed my eyes, but within seconds heard a sound and turned toward the door. Tim stood expressionless holding a bottle of water in one hand and an aspirin bottle in the other.

Got to my feet and stood before him, not knowing what to say. How much had he heard…seen? I lowered my head, embarrassed that I could be so heartless and insensitive to this gentle, sweet man. "Here." He held out the water and aspirin bottle. "He's going to need it." The lack of inflection in his voice told me nothing of what he was feeling, but he seemed to be taking this scene all too well.

I woke Mark and practically had to force him to drink the water and swallow the pill. He collapsed back to the pillow and was sound asleep in seconds.

Inhaled heavily as I stood to approach Tim again. He wasn't there.

Downstairs he was waiting for me in the lounge. Wouldn't have blamed him one bit if he'd just left me there. Surely I've hurt him, as in many ways have hurt myself throughout this entire ordeal.

He was the first to speak, "You and he really do love each other, don't you Bridget?" He said it as if he was overly familiar with my tumultuous relationship with Mark. I cocked my head and confirmed his question with a whisper. He was taking this all way, way too well.

"Do you mind if I clean that up?" indicating the sick by the door. "I don't want him to wake up to that in the morning. He'll feel bad enough I'm sure." I knew I was asking way too much of Tim to be so accepting of my honest admission of love for another man, but I had to take care of Mark. It just seemed the natural thing to do. Started toward the kitchen, but stopped abruptly in my tracks and turned back. "What did you just call me?"

He looked at me without anger, but rather sympathy. "You've been honest with me…today anyway, so I guess it's time that I was honest with you. I know that your name is Bridget Jones and that you've been undercover doing a story for Sit Up Britain."

Instinctively I armed myself with a lamp from the end table. "Who are you and what do you want from me?" I panicked. Was terrified that I was about to be killed and Mark was too pissed to save me.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. It's not quite what you think, but really you have been lying to me all along too. Were you ever going to tell me that you aren't Brandy Summers…or a shop clerk?" He paused briefly. Oh God! I am never going to be a mother because I…we are going to die! "I really must hand it to you, the way you managed to get everyone to call you Brandy…including the children. Very clever. Even Mark, which I know had to be against his better judgment, knowing his brother and parents as I do." He paused again. "You should have just been honest, Sunshine. I wouldn't have cared." Thoughts of every murder plot had ever seen on telly were racing through my mind. Some of the most vile homicidal maniacs presented themselves as well-mannered gentlemen. Raised the lamp over my head and slowly began to back away. How could I have made such a horrible misjudgment of character? I slept with this man, for God's sake! "Bridget I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Please put the lamp down and sit." He sat on the sofa. "Sit over there if you like." He motioned to a chair in the corner, some distance from the sofa.

I sat warily on the edge of the chair, still holding the lamp. Why I sat, I have no idea. Part of me still wanted to trust him. "So who are you then?" My nose twitching from the smell of the sick now wafting throughout the room.

"My name really is Tim…Tim Harbeson. I was hired to…to distract you from Mark."

"Hired! By who?"

"I was hired by Peter Darcy." I shot up out of my seat as he continued. "You see, I'm his former law partner, before he transferred to the Hong Kong office. I assume that is from where your friend Giles recognized me. Years ago he was a paralegal working with one of my senior associates at Rothchild, Darcy, and Wilson,…now Rothchild, Wilson, and Harbeson."

"Why would he do this?" Was pacing the room by now, still white-knuckling the lamp as if it was Peter Darcy's neck.

"He wanted me to come between you and any chance that there might be that you and Mark would reconcile. Apparently he doesn't trust you." I stared daggers at him. "I don't understand it though because I find you to be utterly charming." Didn't know at the time if that was condescension or sincerity. Didn't know what to believe anymore. "Don't be too angry with him." Cocked an eyebrow at him as if to imply that he was crazy. How could I not be? "He was looking out for his brother. Darcy blood runs very deep as I'm sure you know."

"So now you've prematurely blown your cover. Why?"

"Bridget, I have nothing against you. You and Mark love each other. I can see that as plain as day. That weekend in the country…I overheard you telling Mark everything that night. You've never lied to him, have you?"

"I didn't want to lie to you Tim." Felt so ashamed of myself that I could no longer look at him.

"Sunshine, look at me." Lifted my head and met his eyes with tears in mine. "I know you didn't. I don't think that you would intentionally hurt anyone. It's not in your nature. I just hope that you can forgive me for my own deception." He took a deep breath. "The fact of the matter is that you're in love with someone else, and that love isn't just saying the words. It's also what the two of you do for each other when you think no one is watching. While I was watching you with him earlier and watching him with you when you fell, I got the distinct impression that there is very little the two of you wouldn't do for each other. That's just what I'm going to tell Peter." He sighed heavily. "There's no future for us. I see that. I can't compete, not when you have so many undeniably strong, unresolved feelings for someone else. That wouldn't be fair to either of us. And I care enough for you to let you go."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled my cheek to his chest. "Thank you Tim…I didn't deserve you."

"Sure you do, but so does Mark and he found you first." We shared a long silent hug and he kissed the top of my head.

"You're an awfully sensitive man Tim Harbeson. Are you sure that you aren't a poof?"

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind."

"If it means anything to you, I do have genuine feelings for you. That was not an act. I may have started off doing a favor for a friend, but it turned into more. I never would have slept with you otherwise. Even at the cottage…I knew it wasn't me you were thinking of that night, but I truly wanted to think that it was." Looked up at him and we kissed tenderly. A good-bye kiss.

So there it was. He was acting. I was acting. Just playing a part. But he's right. It was more than that. I did have feelings for him also. He is a good man…no, a great man…just notthe best man…for me.


	20. Chapter 20 Mixed Signals

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XX

Mixed Signals

**Tuesday February 19**

_Weight: 9st 11 (Tragic); Consecutive days without horrid morning sickness: 2 (Hurrah!); Unusual dates: 1; Knights in rumpled armour: 1; Confusing mixed signals: Too many_

**8:30am** Waited…waited almost a week for a call that never came. Within that time found out that Daniel had been the mole that alerted Peter Darcy of the details of my assignment and confirmed my secret identity. Seems that he didn't want Mark and me back together any more than Peter did. No wonder Daniel had seemed so shocked when Tim and I had gotten on so well on our first date, and then later calling him a phony wanker. I had thought it was because he was jealous. Bastard. Is just as well that he is now in Mexico because we are no longer on speaking terms and I hope he is blown away by a tropical storm, buried by a mudslide, eaten by an anaconda, trampled by wolves, or similar. Or at the very least, he drinks the water and suffers the nastiest bout of Montezuma's Revenge ever.

Also thinking back…how could Peter Darcy have even thought to go after me in such a manner…attempting to use my job against me as he had? Obsessed over it for days until it suddenly occurred to me during a conversation with Tom. Peter's wife had been in the spa that day, and had overheard us joking about stud farms and fertilizer…yes, it all makes sense now. Had thought nothing more of it after that day, but she must have rushed right home like a dutiful little snooty wife to her bitter, spiteful husband and given him an earful. Must admit, am not v. proud of some of the demeaning things we said about men in general, Mark in particular.

**10:00am** Finch has given a deadline to gather all information for presentation by end of next week…no exceptions! From there we will meet with the executives and technicians. V. exciting to see this project finally come together. Hurrah! Should be much too busy to obsess over fact that love of self's life has not even attempted to make contact and will therefore have to resign self to being tragic single mother whose ex-fiancé apparently has forgotten in his sober state that he still loves me.

**10:15am** Brandy Summers is making her last appearance this evening. Thank God! Since the whole Tim debacle, not that he personally was disappointing, but have definitely grown weary of being someone I am not and living someone else's life, yet still in the same squishy body. Tart at large…literally. My self-esteem has taken much more of a beating than had expected as it became glaringly clear that few were interested in pursuing a second date. What's wrong with me? Am I really so ridiculous that I couldn't wear at least half down with my charm, wit, and pouty lips? The upshot is, no more having to spend at least 2 hours per day sitting on my arse reading and sending emails, no more phone calls from strangers at odd hours, and no more disguises. Though actually would like to keep the darker hair for a bit, but fear turning technicolor again if I have it touched up. Will have to wait until later in pregnancy. By then, self's roots will be so grotesquely overgrown will certainly resemble one of those gothic teenagers with chains connecting their lip or nose to their ear, nipple, or similar…or perhaps a human fudge-swirl popsicle. Not connecting their nose to a popsicle, that would just be silly, but could also resemble a popsicle.

So, will have just one more date with a man who has had to reschedule twice. He seemed like a nice enough bloke when we spoke on the phone, though a bit effeminate sounding, otherwise would have just told him to bugger off. We're meeting at 7:30 for a casual dinner at Caffe Nero. Have had several encounters there, and the staff has been v. accommodating of hidden cameras and microphones.

**11:45pm** Had no way of knowing, of course, that though I was going out on a date with one man tonight, would be bringing an entirely different one home…

Popped into the restaurant, spotted Todd, my undercover technician and bodyguard, lurking in the shadows. He gave me a thumbs up. A v. slim, well-dressed gentleman was sitting alone several tables away gazing out the window. Frankly, he didn't look old enough to be dating and I suspected that beneath the blue-checked exterior there was nary a hair to be found. Despite appearances though, Don was quite lovely and we got on well. All throughout starters couldn't help noticing little things about him…the way he held his spoon, the way he kept readjusting the way he was sitting, and the curious absence of an Adam's apple.

After several minutes of conversation and a cup of tomato and basil soup, excused myself to the loo and motioned for Todd to follow. He had to wait for two women to exit before ducking in, and was immediately distracted by the lavender scent and lack of urinals. "Todd, are you listening? Is it possible for a man to have an applectomy?"

"What are you yacking on about?"

Explained my suspicion that my date was actually of the female persuasion…or used to be. "This is very serious Todd. Stop laughing!"

He was laughing uproariously. "Got yourself a shemale, eh Bridge?…"

Todd was no help and a few crude comments later he was chased from the ladies' by a prudish woman glaring condescendingly at us both as if we had been caught shagging in the washbasin.

Back at the table, had no longer been able to focus on what Don was saying, as self's mind was swirling with so many questions, questions too personal and inappropriate to ask on a first date, or maybe even a fourth. Nevertheless, became consumed with wondering about Don's wee-wee, or lack thereof. Have heard stories that it is usually the last surgery to be done to complete transformation to total manhood. But where does it come from? Are there donors for such things? Or are the breasts that are removed somehow fashioned into one? Or perhaps it comes from one's arse. Who doesn't have a bit of posterior baggage to spare? Could probably make a fully functioning third arm from my own blubber…or at least an adult-sized hand.

"Excuse me for being so forward, but I was wondering…" Leaned in, motioned for him to do the same, and lowered my voice to as whisper. "Do you have a penis?"

Before the anger came, his expression of hurt instantly made me regret that I had asked such a insensitive question.

Don stood up, trying to loom over me in his not-so-menacing, stunted frame. Thought he might slap me. "Not manly enough for you? Is that it, you chunky whore!" he shouted. With that, he left the restaurant, leaving me with the bill. As soon as he was gone Todd came over, nearly doubled over in hysterics with equipment in hand.

"Never a dull moment with you Miss Jones." Handed him my wire and he finished packing up. "You ok to get home?" Told him I was fine and he left. Stayed for another latte…since I was buying. Feeling v. bad. One question though, since I had enjoyed Don's company before opening my big mouth, does that mean that I could potentially swing both ways? Gaah!

Once Todd spreads the word, the ribbing back at the station will be brutal.

Later, "You want another latte, ma'am?" a young server asked. Had just finished off my third, along with a big slice of chocolate fudge cake, so I sent him away after settling the bill, safe in knowing that I'd likely be wired for hours with nothing in particular to do with all that caffeine-propelled energy. Could have been an excellent opportunity to finally start prenatal exercise regimen Dr. Lloyd had suggested. Realized that if I hurried, could have been home in time to catch the end of Big Brother. What's one more week?

But that wasn't meant to be either…

Bugggeerrr! Rear tyre was punctured! That He-She, or Shemale, whatever Todd called him, undoubtedly had let the air out. Am glad more than ever that this phase of the project is over. Searched mobile directory for someone…anyone who could change a tyre. Why hadn't I ever gotten AA service? Began to sob at the realization that I could have potentially been putting the life of my unborn child at risk every time I went out with someone I didn't know.

Jude? Shaz? Weak…might break a nail. Daniel? Out of the country and hate him. Would rather be devoured by piranhas than speak to him. Tim? Better not. Would be a bit too weird even though he had said if I ever needed anything to ring him. Still feel bad for lying to him. Mark? Do I dare? He does owe me after all…and, he does technically own the car.

Within 15 minutes he was there looking as if I had just roused him from a deep sleep. His eyes were a bit puffy and his hair was sticking up in stubby little horns. Was he recovering from another bender? Nevertheless, he was looking so deliciously strong and sexy in blue jeans and a long-sleeved, dark green t-shirt. He wasn't wearing a coat, as last week's freezing weather had calmed to little more than a mild breeze.

He touched my shoulder with concern that I was out here all alone in the dark. He asked about Tim, of course, and I lied and said that everyone had been right. He found out the truth and chucked me. Would have loved to tell him the truth, the whole truth, about what actually happened that night. Had I not listened to Tim's advice and stayed with Mark, could have told him everything straight away. But instead had let Tim take me home with the assumption that Mark would call the next day when he was feeling more himself. Had barely slept that night, not because Tim had chucked me…or rather we had chucked each other, but because Mark needed me and I didn't know how to help him.

He struggled with the jack, grumbling under his breath. "What's the matter? You're not snockered, are you?" He said nothing and continued working while I stood around not knowing what else to say or do.

When finally he finished, he chucked the punctured tyre in the boot of his own car with a heavy sigh, saying that he'd dispose of it, before turning back to me. "Are you alright? Were you out on another of your dates?" he inquired with signature Mark Darcy stoicism.

Felt compelled to tell him about the rather unusual transgender encounter, thinking that he'd find it amusing. Instead, he let his guard down and pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around me and put his cheek against the top of my head. Neither of us said anything for a few moments as we stood pressed together beneath the dim street lamp. Closed my eyes as if to better soak in his essence. That was where I felt safe.

Still in his clutches, he reached his arm around to reveal the Nero steak knife that he had found protruding from my tyre. Had anyone happened by at that particular moment, it would have undoubtedly appeared as if he were about to slit my throat and leave me for dead. "I'm so glad this is the end of your assignment, Bridget. I've been so worried about you." Of course, had he not been practically stalking me, he would have never known and there would have been no reason to worry…though was so happy that he was. A v.g. sign.

"Mark, would you like to come back to my flat for a bit?" The invitation escaped my lips before I'd had any time to think about what I was doing. I just prayed that I hadn't left the flat in a shambles. This was the night. I'm going to tell him.

He followed me the few kilometres back to my flat.

He stood trepidatiously near the top of the stairs awaiting further invitation into the lounge. "Make yourself comfortable. I'd offer you a drink, but under the circumstances…"

"I don't have a drinking problem, Bridget," he shot back. Right.

"There's no reason to get defensive Mark. Coffee?" Reached into the cupboard.

"I'll make it." That offer established two things. Despite feeling accused of being an alcoholic, he did in fact want to be there. Secondly, he hates my coffee…or is afraid of it.

We sat on the sofa and talked about absolutely nothing of any particular importance for far too long. It's amazing how long a conversation about weather can go on out of fear of having nothing else to say, and then having to face the uncomfortable silence that would inevitably follow. We discussed our weather of course; we discussed weather in Greece where his parents were on weeklong holiday; we even discussed weather in Mexico where I told him Daniel had been sent temporarily and that I hoped that while he was there the Abominable Snowman would eat his face, to which Mark then explained that the Abominable Snowman was only rumoured to exist, and only in the Himalayan Mountains at that, to which he noticed my furrowed brow while trying to remember where the Himalayan Mountains were. Eventually he told me. Nice man…never mocked me for not knowing where something is…except of course for maybe my door keys when we would be in a hurry to leave, only to find them 30 minutes later after a panicked and disgusted search, under a discarded wet towel on the back of the toilet tank. So when the silence did come, he still had made absolutely no mention of the drunken encounter…er, his drunken encounter with me, or about the fever that he had been running that night.

Finally I just asked, "Mark, were you ill?"

"How do you mean?"

"The night we brought you home you were burning up."

"Was I? Yes, I suppose I was a bit under the weather for a few days…nothing serious." He wasn't looking me as he spoke, but was glancing around the room. "Is that a new picture on the wall over there?"

Ignored his off-topic question. "I was very worried, and then even more worried when you didn't ring me."

Refocused, he met my eyes pensively. "I wanted to call and thank you. I honestly did, but I didn't want…to be the cause of any further discord between you and your boyfriend." Had he sensed discord? I hadn't even known there was discord between us until it was over.

With the mention of Tim, a taboo subject as far as I was concerned, it had become my turn to look away, busying myself with removing a piece of lent stuck to the sofa. The last thing I wanted to do while trying to reestablish a connection was talk about someone else that I had had feelings for and in a way had been betrayed by,. Also, didn't want to somehow end up letting it slip that Tim had been a pawn in Peter Darcy's evil game of seek and destroy with me as the target of destruction.

Had already used the 'talking about weather' approach to fill uncomfortable silence, so this time offered him more coffee and popped up to fetch the carafe before he'd had any time to respond. My objective of the evening had not been sleep, so the fact that I was so hopped up on caffeine that my hands had actually started to shake was irrelevant.

The subject of tonight's encounter came up again. "What do you suppose Shazzer would be like as a man? She is rather tall and big-boned…and she could probably drink just about any man under the table. I think very little would be different actually." Mark chuckled at my musings. "I wonder if Tom would be attracted to her."

"I'm not so sure about that, but I am absolutely certain that I wouldn't want to be there when you propose this idea to her…unless of course to protect you from the bollocking that would likely ensue." He paused momentarily. "I can't believe you asked your date if he had a penis." He began to laugh harder.

"I know, but it seemed a reasonable enough question…at the moment." Was trying to be serious, but ended up giggling. Playfully covered my face with a throw pillow.

After the laughter died down, "I've missed you," Mark confessed somberly, smoothing his hand over my hair.

"I've missed you too." The edges of his mouth curled upward ever so slightly as he watched me, his eyelids blinking double-time, which meant that he was nervous.

That was the signal! It had to be! Moments later he had excused himself to the loo. Probably too embarrassed to ask if I had taken the pill (not that it mattered) and wanted to check his wallet for a condom. Goody!

Rushed into the bedroom, nearly tripping over a pair of shoes carelessly tossed in the floor earlier. Rummaged through the lingerie and knicker drawer for the perfect prelude to seduction. Found the two teddies that Mark had given me for Christmas. Hmm? Pink or red? Pink or red? V. crucial question. Pink suggests sweetness and romance; red more erotic and passionate. Held both against self's body in front of the mirror.

Had better go with the pink for tonight. Don't want him to think me too tarty and only after his body. Love him for his mind too. Yes, yes, v. good. He hasn't said the words, but do believe he loves me and is not just here to fulfill some manly conquest. Will tell him, then will present self in tiny teddy, he will scoop me into his arms, carry me to the bedroom where we will shag each other senseless all night in duel celebration of reunion and baby. Will be much too tired to go to work in the morning of course, so will have second morning shagathon before falling asleep in each others arms. Flawless plan.

"Bridget?"

"Be right out." Gaah! Room resembles aftermath of small war-torn country. Waded clothes from bed and floor into gigantic heavy ball and tossed in bottom of wardrobe…eventually got door to stay closed. Kicked a few books, pork rind packets, and empty milk trays underneath bed, smoothed out linens, and lit a few vanilla-scented candles.

Took more time than expected to squeeze into teddy. Really must begin exercise regimen tomorrow. No, day after tomorrow. Examined self in mirror. Perhaps should dim the lights so that he doesn't notice the scary, non baby related, extra roll that has formed in self's midsection.

Wrapped self in lightweight cardie from back of door, slipped into a pair of pink ballet-type slippers, and sauntered in manner of sex kitten into the sitting room.

He wasn't there. Didn't hear the door. "Mark, are you hiding?" Giggled a bit while searching flat. "Mark?" Began to panic, then looked up to notice terrace door was ajar.

"Mark? Are you up here?" Climbed to the top of the stairs to find him near the railing, gazing off into the distance, the breeze tugging at his already tousled hair.

"You're not up here smoking are you?" Approached the question with as little accusation as possible, considering his reaction before. After all, who am I to point out one's vices. After tonight though, am relatively certain that he will return to the Mark Darcy that I know and love.

Ignoring my question, "I had almost forgotten how lovely the view is from up here, especially under the stars." His eyes stayed fixed elsewhere.

Joined him at the railing, clutching the long cardie over Mark's surprise. "Yes, it reminds me of the night you…um, we…had dinner up here. The sky was so perfect…Do you remember the falling star and how lovely that was?" Kept glimpsing at him for even the subtlest of reaction to the memories.

We stood side by side admiring the scenery for a silent eternal moment. Then he did what I had been trying to find the courage to do. He placed his hand over mine, a confirmation that though he was looking away, he was thinking of me whole-heartedly. Turned my hand over and laced my fingers with his. His gentle touch caused me to tremble more than I already had been.

"Are you cold? Why did you change?" he asked, looking at my bare legs. He released his grasp, but then reconnected by encircling his arm around my waist with the palm of his open hand coming to rest against my hip, sheltering me from the breeze. Though I was not facing him, he was close enough that I could feel every steady exhale against the top of my head.

"Mark, I have something I want to tell you."

"Bridget, there's something I need to tell you."

We spoke in unison, then paused as if to let the other continue. Now face to face, Mark bore his eyes deeply down into mine, then he closed them tightly as if to suppress an emotion that he was trying to deny himself. "Mark stop fighting it. Stop fighting us." He didn't open his eyes, but he didn't pull away from me either. Cupping his face in my hands, stood on my toes and brought my mouth up to his gently, lightly grazing my lips against his. He then tried to back away but I held more tightly to him and brought my lips to his again more firmly. Eventually he surrendered his stance and gave himself over to the passion that had been pent up inside of both of us for too long.

I lost track of the time we had spent standing in that single spot. Neither of us had expected or was prepared for a kiss of that magnitude. But it ended as awkwardly as it had begun when his hands drifted inside my cardie that was hanging open to reveal the silky pink teddy. "You could never disappoint me," I whispered.

This time he did manage to pull away. He scanned the length of my body and grimaced. "Why does everything always have to be about sex with you?"

Pulled the cardie tightly to recover my apparent overexposure. "I'm sorry if my body now offends you. Silly me. I had been under the obvious false impression that you liked it!" I chided sharply. "You were sending me all the signals…I thought. Is this your way of punishing me for sleeping with Tim?"

"No, of course not."

"Well what is it then? Am I too fat? Is it the dark hair? What?"

"It's none of that. It's not you, it's me."

"Don't you dare give me that tired cliché!" Everyone knows that 'It's not you, it's me' means of course it's you. You are fat, stupid, and ridiculous. And in an instant we were back to where we were a month and a half ago.

He reached out, attempting to grab my hand but I backed away.

"I…I'm just not ready yet Bridget."

Glared at him. "Not ready yet? But men are _always_ ready!" Began to pace about. "This doesn't make sense. Last week when Tim and I took you home, you told me that you love me!"

"I said that?"

"Great. You don't even remember." Was so confused. "Are you playing games with me, Mark? Because not even 45 minutes ago you told me that you miss me, and I'm quite positive that I wasn't imagining your tongue in my mouth just now. I'm not _that_ delusional."

"I should go." He began to shuffle toward the terrace door with his head down.

"Yes. Maybe you should," I replied stonily.

When he got to the door he turned and looked back up at me. "Oh, you said before that you had something to tell me."

"Never mind. I'm not in the mood to talk about it. Goodnight." He left quietly, and I headed for the fridge, nearly flinging the door from its hinges. Took out a log shaped packet of unbaked biscuit dough, threw it down on the counter, and began to lop off pieces, shoving each thick slice entirely into my mouth. Eventually chucked the knife and tore into the dough with my teeth until I had eaten the whole thing.

Ugh! Am feeling so sick now!

**Wednesday February 20**

**7:30pm **Not feeling at all well but decided to go out with the girls to clear my head.

"Bridge, have you given any thought as to where you will have your baby?" Jude asked, while nursing her third mimosa. A folded world map was sitting on the table next to her.

"Um…in a hospital, I guess."

"No, like Brangalina. They went to Namibia to give birth to Shiloh you know." Great. So to add to add to stress of looming motherhood, will now have to choose birthing country.

"Listen, I don't want to talk about that right now. I need to make peace with her daddy first. I think I've cocked up spectacularly!" They rolled their eyes.

"How?" Shaz asked calmly while lighting a ciggie, then promptly groaning and stubbing it out. Starting explaining every confusing moment of what had happened last night, starting with the date with Don, minus the bit about Shaz being a suitable male candidate and potential life partner for Tom.

"I did discover one good thing."

"Yea? What's that?"

"Mark didn't cheat on me with Rebecca! Well, he did, but he didn't mean to. He just has a drinking problem. He didn't know what he was doing! Isn't that fantastic!"

"You don't need a man with a drinking problem, Bridge."

"That's a bit hypocritical now, isn't it?'

"I still say, just fuck him!"

"Well, I tried but he turned me down."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant, but it's just so bizarre. He and I had always had a fantastic sexual appetite for each other…"

"Yes, and you have quite substantial evidence of that fact now, don't you?" Jude giggled, placing her hand against my tummy. "Has the baby kicked yet?"

"Jude, she doesn't even have feet."

Shaz interrupted rudely, "I just don't get it. You're like fucking Sienna Miller. She keeps going back to Jude Law only to have her heart broken again."

"Mark is nothing like Jude Law. He's never shagged a nanny in his life." Though maybe something to keep in mind for the future. Might behoove self to employ a manny instead, similar to Britney.

Jude placed her hand over mine, raised an eyebrow at Shaz, and then turned to me thoughtfully. "Listen Bridget, I know we've given you a hard time about Mark, but if you love him that much and you sincerely believe he's worth fighting for, then…don't give up on him."

"Thanks Jude. I don't intend to." Gave her a hug, then looked at Shaz expectantly. Sharon, the ever-present beacon of discord, with quite possibly the biggest chip on her shoulder than anyone I'd ever met, is not one to give up her ultra feminist position as supreme man-hater easily.

Jude had given her a not so subtle signal and she gave me a tight-lipped smile and hug, but I knew it was perfunctory and unheartfelt at best.

**10:00pm** Thought about what Magda had said at the cabin last week about things not being as they seem. There's something Mark's not telling me, and I intend to find out what it is.

**Sunday February 24**

_Weight: Who cares; Pregnancies revealed: 1; Miscarriages: 1 _

Have been told that I should try to resume my normal routine and that writing in my diary will be helpful and healthyfor sorting out my feelings. Can't imagine that anything could possibly be helpful.

Thursday and Friday had been the worst days of my entire life. This is what I remember…

Had been so thrilled that I had managed to go three straight days without dreaded morning sickness. A welcome reprieve since had been so disastrously sick from the start. Most women would have just been finding out that they were pregnant around 6 or 7 weeks, but I had known from the start (2 weeks)…more time to get used to the idea of being a mummy. Dr. Lloyd said that it was normal for some women and that it didn't mean that anything was wrong or that I was too old.

Maybe if I wasn't so old…

The spotting had started again on Wednesday. Was sort of like the monthly visitor had come unannounced. Though a bit heavier than a few weeks ago, I didn't go to the doctor because he said on my last few visits that sometimes as things are growing and changing, some blood could result. Went on about my normal day. Even went to the cinema and pub after work with the girls.

Maybe if I had gone to the doctor anyway…

Thursday was more of the same except that my back was hurting. Must have slept wrong, I thought. Was not uncommon for me to be restless and uncomfortable at night.

Maybe if I had bought a more comfortable mattress…

Stayed home from work because I just wasn't feeling up to it…too tired…too achy…too bloody. Slept most of the day on the sofa. Maybe I was coming down with the flu. Jude and Shazzer were coming round after work with some vegetarian take-away. Lovely friends. Whenever I was having a bad day, either nauseous or tired, they came armed with the necessities. Food, a film, and for them…a bottle of Chardonnay.

Maybe if I'd gotten more exercise or somehow eaten better…

After dinner, which I barely took five bites of, was feeling like I needed to get off the sofa and stretch a bit and so I dragged the bin bag down the stairs and out onto the pavement. Attempted to chuck it into the big rubbish bin, but snagged it on the corner and a load of take away containers and other unsavory rubbish scattered everywhere.

Maybe if I had just stayed on the sofa…

As was bent over furiously stuffing things back into the ripped bag, heard footsteps approaching from behind and then stop. Remember thinking that I was going to be kidnapped at gunpoint wearing ratty dressing gown and scary hair. Stood up slowly though to look directly into Mark's eyes. He had been wearing a red jogging suit, not one of his best colors, and was slightly winded, but still so handsome. It had been only two days since I had seen him last, but seemed more like two weeks. Missed him tremendously, especially after that electrifying kiss we had shared. Awkward silence as we stood staring at one another, not knowing just what to say. We had been getting all too good at that sort of confrontation. His eyes were strangely searching mine as if expecting for me to say something. Didn't know at the time, but had I checked my email, I'd have had plenty to say. At that instance, had wanted only to caress his cheek or to feel the touch of his hand on my arm to make me feel better. Suddenly the silence had been broken when in a most unladylike way got violently sick all over the pavement right at Mark's feet as if secret baby was protesting Mummy and Daddy being so close and yet apart.

Maybe if he hadn't jogged past my flat every night as a constant reminder of our broken love affair, I wouldn't have been such a sad emotional basketcase…

"Good God Bridget, are you alright." He had reached for me but I lurched back not wanting the reminder of his touch after all.

Maybe if he hadn't said that he loved me and then, in not so many words, taken it back…

"Just a touch of the flu is all. No need to worry…nothing serious." Looked away. "Jude and Shazzer are upstairs." Another awkward silence. Stomach was really starting to ache badly but made no indication to Mark. "Goodbye Mark." Stepped back into the building leaving him standing there.

"Maybe if I hadn't lied to him about the pain, and he could have driven me to the hospital sooner…

Back in the flat Jude and Shazzer were busy fawning over David Beckham in Hello Magazine. "Bridge, you've got to see David's tight little arse in these trousers!" Went to the window, looked out to see Mark still there wrangling the rest of my wayward rubbish. Pressed forehead against windowpane and began to sob watching him, wondering if it was actually possible to die from a broken heart. Jude and Shaz dropped the magazine and rushed to my side to see what had made me break down., assuming it was just wacky pregnancy hormones.

Maybe if I hadn't loved Mark Darcy so damn much that it hurt…

The pain in my stomach had gotten worse though until I couldn't bear it anymore and crumpled to the floor clutching my gut. "Oh God it hurts! No! No! no…" Jude had grabbed the quilt from the sofa and folded me into it and her arms. Could speak no more and could barely keep my head off the floor. Jude held me closer. Heard muffled cries for Mark coming from Shazzer.

Seconds later Mark had appeared from the street. "What's the matter with her!" His hand touched my quivering, sweat and tear-stained face then he must have seen the blood on the floor and begun to panic.

"I think she's losing the baby," barely heard Jude say as calmly as possible, still holding me close.

"What baby?"

"Your baby."

**_The miscarriage is based on the true story of a close friend, and used by permission. I apologize to anyone who is offended or hurt by this particular event in the storyline._**


	21. Chapter 21 Emotional Roller Coaster

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXI

Emotional Roller Coaster

**Sunday February 24 (cont.)**

Felt myself being lifted from the floor, still wrapped in the quilt. The pain had been so excruciating that I thought I was going to be sick again. Was desperately clinging to the hope that what Jude had said to Mark was a mistake…that I wasn't losing the baby, and that the bleeding and pain could be stopped in time. She had no medical degrees, no personal child bearing experiences. How could she know for sure? Was more than willing to face 7 months of bed rest if that's what it would take to bring my precious baby into the world.

Mark carefully placed me in the passenger seat of my car then sped off through the dusky streets of London toward the hospital. He had turned off the radio and so all that could be heard was the sound of his heavy, panicked breathing and his impatient honking. "Oh Bridget…why didn't you tell me?" could hear him mutter under his breath. Could not respond. Even if I had been able to, what would I have said?

Maybe if I had told him…

Shortly after arriving at the hospital, was whisked from Mark's arms into a waiting wheelchair. The pain was still so intense. Managed though to croak out the name of my doctor. He never arrived…in time. Meanwhile, other uniformed staff members were huddled around me, coming and going, speaking in hushed tones. Far too many people getting an eyeful of my nether regions, but I was not in any particular modest frame of mind. I just wanted it to stop. And finally it did. A young nurse, Tessa I believe was her name, told me that I should start to feel much better. The gestational sac had passed. She said it with a smile, as if it was a good thing. Gestational sac? In medical terms that meant my baby. The baby was lost. She had found my womb too toxic and had rejected me as her mother.

Maybe if I weren't Bridget Jones, living, breathing disaster…I wouldn't have lost the best thing that had ever happened to me.

There really had been no medical reason for me to stay after that, but Dr. Lloyd wouldn't discharge me without talking with me first about what had happened. Had been in a med-induced sleep, but was soon awakened by footsteps. Was not Dr. Lloyd, but Mark looking forlorn and rumpled.

"Bridget," He took my limp hand, cocooning it between the two of his. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine," I responded tersely, avoiding eye contact, but rather maintaining focus on a tab of peeling yellow-striped wallpaper.

"Do you want me to call your parents?"

Scrunched my eyes together fighting back tears, not wanting to deal with any of this…or any of what was to come. Shook my head. "They didn't know. I never told them."

He squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry Bridget."

"For what?" Still was not looking at him.

"For everything." Momentary silence. "Bridget…Why didn't you tell me that you were pregnant?"

For the first time I looked him squarely in the eyes. All the pain and resentment of the past two months had worked its way to the surface of my clouded brain and my whisper became a shout. "What makes you so sure that you were the father!"

Silence. He released my hand. "Are you honestly going to tell me that I'm not?"

"It is possible you know! You aren't the only sperm in the sea! I _was_ dating another man you know." I could have just as well shot him as said that to him. A horrified, sick expression ripped across his face.

"Bridget please! Is that true?" He stood. "I'm sure they can tell me how far along your pregnancy was. And why else would your friends say that I was?" He began moving toward the door.

"Don't bother. I'm fairly certain that it happened the day we…the night I got back from Thailand," I revealed resentfully, but then lowered my voice again to nearly a whisper. "What does it matter anyway? She's gone!"

"She?" He practically lunged at me, reclaiming my hand. "We were going to have a little girl? Oh Bridget…" He said it hopefully, as if it was still a possibility. With his other hand, he touched my cheek. I shook away his touch.

"I don't know. That's just what I wanted…" Rose up again like a cobra about to strike its prey. "…otherwise you would have just insisted on sending him away…to some snobby, dehumanizing boarding school where I'd miss seeing him grow up!" Swallowed hard. "I will never send my children away Mark Darcy!" He said nothing, focused his attention on the floor and began to pace like a caged animal. The next thing I spat at him I still regret saying, and probably always will. I didn't mean it. I was just angry. Angry at him…angry at myself…angry at the world. "You don't deserve to be a father!"

He turned pale as a crisp, white bed linen and cast his eyes on me in a way that I hope I never see again, a mixture of bewilderment, grief, and rage. Quickly he moved toward the door without another word.

The nurse caught him at the door, but a partition blocked my view so that I could only hear. "Mr. Jones, are you alright?"

"Darcy, Mr. Darcy." Could hear him speaking v. low. "I was the baby's father though."

Moments later Jude and Shazzer entered the room holding a gargantuan bouquet of unnaturally colored chrysanths and matching pitiful expressions on their faces. "Bridget we brought you some flowers. How are you feeling?"

Why is it that people always ask that question? How am I supposed to feel? And why, oh why is it universally believed that flowers hold the power to ease a person's pain? "Miserable."

"What did you say to Mark? He just left the room with tears in his eyes."

"I didn't know that emotionally constipated people even had tear ducts," Shaz added, smirking uncomfortably after her ill-received joke.

"Good! It's his fault! It's all his fault!"

"How can you say that Bridget? He didn't even know," Jude curiously jumped to Mark's defense.

"If he hadn't done what he did, Bridget wouldn't have been under so much bloody stress all the time," Shaz retorted. "Of course it was his fucking fault!"

Jude and Shaz proceeded to argue their divergent feelings regarding my former child's father. Actually had become fearful that their debate over Mark was going to come to an embarrassing catty round of fisticuffs whereby they'd have to be escorted out in straitjackets, or in their case nets. Wondered if they had forgotten that I was even in the room. Hello? Would have just left them to their bloody pointless argument but was quarantined to a hospital bed with no immediate means of escape until Dr. Lloyd arrived. Finally they ceased with the bickering when I began to cry…angry tears. "Stop it! You're not helping. Please just go! I want to be alone." Once again was trying to find solace in the tattered wall. They both kissed the top of my head and left peacefully. Best friends, yes, but they can be so totally idiotic and insensitive sometimes.

Dr. Lloyd had arrived shortly after 10pm apologizing for the tardiness. Was surprised when Mark came in behind him. I had said the worst possible thing to him and he was still there. He even asked if I minded if he stayed in the room while the doctor spoke with me. His eyes were bloodshot. Jude was right; he had been crying.

Dr Lloyd had asked a lot of questions and I answered as best I could. He began to explain things like chromosomal imbalance, infectious antibodies, and incompetent cervixes. Would be typical of my cervix to be incompetent, wouldn't it? Then he turned to Mark and explained that in some cases abnormal sperm can be the cause. Mark reacted by lowering his head, but then spoke up moments later, rudely interrupting Dr. Lloyd as he continued to explain the circumstances, "She fell on the ice a few weeks ago. Could that have anything to do with it?"

He was trying to blame me.

"A simple fall does not trigger such a reaction. There is no cause for alarm unless Miss Jones had required serious medical attention, which she did not. She came to me with the same concern, but I assured her…" Dr. Lloyd placed one hand on Mark's shoulder and the other over my hand. "I know that you have had a somewhat difficult pregnancy from the start Miss Jones, but there appears to be no medical indication that you are incapable of carrying a child full term. The bottom line is that no one really knows what causes a miscarriage in most cases and it's important that you don't blame yourselves or each other." He cleared his throat and stood to leave. "There's no reason why you couldn't try again in a few weeks time, but for now, rest. If you need to speak with anyone I will be happy to refer you. Equally as important in the healing process, you need to keep the lines of communication open between the two of you."

Mark and the doctor shook hands as Mark thanked him for speaking with us. I repeated what Dr. Lloyd had said over in my head, about how we could try again soon. He obviously didn't realize that Mark and I weren't a "we" anymore. Had been too embarrassed to even look at Mark after that, but felt the edge of the bed dip as he sat closer. He wrapped his arms around me and placed his hand on the back of my matted head. I didn't want to reciprocate, but I needed him. My heart was broken, and right now he's the only one who understood even a fraction of what I was feeling.

He took me home after that.

Had gone straight to bed, a thousand and one more 'what if' scenarios running through my head…trying to make sense of something that didn't make sense. Thought I had done everything I was supposed to. In my heart, had felt unwavering joy and contentment that Mark had been there, but my head told another story…to scream at him one minute and cling to him the next. Felt such consuming guilt now, never having told him…until it was too late. Have robbed him of the joys of being an expectant father, and left him with only the sadness of the loss. Would not blame him if he couldn't forgive me for that, but then again he left me with few options in that regard, as he tried to shut me out of his life. Can't believe how utterly cruel we'd been to each other over the past two months. And for what?

Heard a shuffle at the door and found him watching me. How pathetic I must have seemed to him, I thought.

"Bridget, can I get you anything?" he asked stoically. Couldn't really figure out what was going through his mind. Was he riding the same emotional roller coaster? Since bringing me home from the hospital, he'd been v. guarded. Neither of us had said a word to the other in the car.

"I'll be fine." That had become my stock answer whenever anyone asked how I was or if they could get me anything. Reached for a tissue to blow my nose.

Unexpectedly, he came and sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you sure?" He took another tissue from the box and wiped my eyes. Managed a smile in response to his sweet gesture, feeling certain that it was just pity that he was feeling for me…that was all. Abruptly he stood again and I thought he was going to leave, but to my surprise he came around and lay down next to me, still in the same red jogging suit, minus shoes.

"What are you doing?" Looked into his eyes with puzzlement.

"I want you to rest now. Try and get some sleep. I'll be right here if you need anything." He smiled ever so slightly, plumped the pillow and laid his head down next to mine.

"But…"

"Shhhh…no more talking." Hesitantly I laid on my side, with back to him (as I usually sleep on my right side) and burrowed beneath the covers. I turned back to him again several minutes later and he was still awake, watching me as I had so often done to him, his eyes filled with tears. He was hurting too. I passed him a tissue.

"I'm sorry Mark."

"For what?"

"For saying you don't deserve to be a father."

His glassy eyes penetrated mine. "I know."

We lay side by side all night, neither of us making a sound, except for the at least half dozen times I had awoken in a cold sweat after having given birth to a chimpanzee clutching a bag of pork rinds or similar. He held me…listening…stroking my hair, and then tucked me in again after doing his best to chase the demons away. He promised that he would be right there. We would get through it together and that he would protect me. Sadly though, no one could protect me. He was with me, but I still felt so alone…so empty.


	22. Chapter 22 The Email

_Back from hiatus…_

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXII

The Email

**Sunday February 24 (cont.)**

Friday had been an excruciatingly long day and brought absolutely no relief from the day before. In fact it was worse…if that could have been possible.

Awoke early, despite having v. little restful sleep to find self alone in bed. Though I was growing accustomed to sleeping solo again, had fully expected him to be there beside me as he had promised. Called out for Mark but there was no response, only the revving engines of the taxi departures from the depot next door and the jittery chirping sounds of the birds on the roof…Bloody stupid happy birds!

Couldn't believe it! We…I had just lost our child not even 12 hours before and he had gone to work. A v. grave misjudgment on my part in thinking that he understood a bit of what I was going through. It didn't matter…just another day to him. What he had said to me during the night about being there and not leaving me was nothing more than pillow talk.

Instinctively I rang Jude's mobile. She was at work and noticeably caught off guard, tripping over her words as she tried to formulate an appropriate sentiment where there really wasn't one. "Bridge, how are you feeling?…I'm sorry, I mean, how you are? Oh, dammit. Sorry. Can I do anything for you?" Instead of the usual morning panicked call from the loo regarding how her boss takes advantage of her, or how emotionally or physically abandoned she felt by something Richard had done or hadn't done the night before, she attempted to be the dutiful friend.

"No. No, there's nothing anyone can do. I…I just don't understand how this could have happened. I didn't drink or smoke….I took naps…I ate vegetables…I talked to her every night before I went to sleep…" Covered my face, but the rolling tears stung my cheeks anyway. "Jude, it's just not fair…It's not fair." Positioned the bed pillows and leaned back against them wearily. "Now I just feel so alone." There was a long empty silence and had wondered if the call had been dropped.

"Is Mark there?" she finally asked.

Told her how loving and compassionate he had been the night of the miscarriage and then heatedly explained his absence the next morning. Not even a note…

She agreed to come round after work

-----

Mark hadn't been gone long. Traces of his masculine scent lingered in the bathroom, swirling around me, as I stood hunched over the washbasin, staring at my ghastly mascara-smeared, splotchy reflection while the tap filled the bath with the hottest water that I could stand without requiring a skin graft afterward.

Lost track of the time, but heard the answerphone announce its presence through the cracked door four times as I soaked. First had been Shazzer apologizing profusely for her behaviour at the hospital, then Mum, chastising me for not ringing Dad on his 61st birthday the day before, a day that will now forever also mark the anniversary of the loss of my first child, and then twice recognized the grating sound of my boss's yammering. Made no attempt to pick up, but instead slid just below the water's surface, letting the warm, lavender scented water envelope me completely, escaping Richard Finch's demeaning and lambastic comments.

"Bridget! Bridget!" In a bizarre Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction manner, and a flurry of splashing confusion was suddenly yanked from the water by my arms.

"What the hell are you doing!" Wrestled free from his grasp, and fell against the wall to regain balance. "I'm taking a bath for Christ's sake!" Became uncomfortably aware that I had been standing stark naked in knee deep water with Mark half wet in front of me breathing heavily with his mouth agape, terror in his eyes. Crouched back into the tub, drawing my knees snugly to my chest.

"Bridget!" He knelt down and placed his shaking hand against my cheek. "I'm so glad I arrived when I did..."

"What are you talking about! I'm just taking a bath!"

"It's just that…when I came in and saw you under the water…I'm so sorry that I left you. I should have stayed." His voice dropped to a whisper and he repeated himself with his forehead pressed against the tub, "I should have stayed. It's just that I wanted…to get you a croissant. I thought I'd be back before you woke. I'm so sorry for letting you down again."

Lifted his face with my soapy hand under his chin. Didn't know what to say at first as his eyes searched mine. "I just didn't want to hear my boss shouting at me on the answerphone was all…." Relief washed over his pallid face.

"Bridget, I don't know what I would do if…"

"If what Mark?"

He didn't respond, but rather shook his head, stood, and cleared his throat. "I'll get you that croissant and some coffee," he announced matter-of-factly, completely disowning the outpouring of emotion from seconds before. He left the room.

---

Could hear Mark clanging around in the kitchen, but I didn't join him. Instead I searched for the phone. The room had been straightened up and the phone moved for some odd reason. I knew that I had to call Richard back. Had to tell him that I wouldn't be in. Maybe I wouldn't come back at all. Didn't care about the project anymore. The day before it had meant so much…my big break that would change everything and free me from the shackles of career mediocrity. 24 hours later it meant nothing.

"Bridget Jones, get your tarty arse in here. I told you there are no exceptions to that expose' being late. You have studio commentaries to record today and the technicians are waiting. In fact…" There was a pause, "you have 25 minutes to get here before I fire you and give the rest of the project over to Lucinda. She's got a smaller arse and longer legs. You're looking heavy…_heavier_ lately…I'm sure people would much rather see her on the telly reporting the story than…"

"But Richard…I just can't…I…" Mark came from behind and snatched the phone from me.

He gave my boss an earful. "…Bridget has just suffered a miscarriage, so unless you want a lawsuit on your hands I suggest you give her time. Have I made myself clear _Mr. Finch_?" By the time he finished, he was shouting. He rang off and turned to me. "Finch sends his condolences."

"Thank you," I whispered. Under any other circumstances I'd have been able give my perverted, miserable excuse of a boss a right good bollocking, but my fire was gone. I just sat, hands rested on my empty tummy, staring at nothing in particular.

Mark sat next to me on the sofa holding out a chocolate croissant. "So it seems I was far from being the only one who didn't know." Was difficult to interpret his mood, but his voice was calm and low.

"I didn't want anyone to know…until after I told you. I didn't want you to hear it from someone like Daniel Cleaver." I spoke without looking at him. "Shazzer and Jude found out when I did…and then Magda figured it out. Those are the…"

He interrupted. "Magda knew?" His voice deflated.

"I had to confirm her suspicions after a bout of morning sickness while we were all up at the cottage." He put his hands to his face with his elbows propped on his knees, and was rubbing the pads of his fingers into his eyes "I know she's your friend Mark, but she's mine too, and I asked her not to betray a confidence." I had anticipated what his next question would be. "I made her promise not to tell Jeremy." Ran my hand down the curve of his back and was just about to rest my head on his shoulder when he stood abruptly and proceeded to pace about the room.

"When were you planning to tell me about the baby, Bridget!" he shouted. We had cycled back to that again. "It seems that you've had ample opportunity!" He stopped pacing and bore down on me with an angry glare.

"I…" Had not anticipated his anger and was at a loss for words.

"Or maybe you weren't going to tell me at all, and pass it off as someone else's child. Tim's perhaps? That sounds like something those daft celebrities you idolize so much would do! Is that it?"

"No…No Mark!" I stood in front of him and tried to meet his eyes as levelly as I could given the nearly eight inch difference in our statures. "I was so happy and proud to be carrying your child." Tears started to well. "I tried so many times to tell you. I really did." Continued to explain, and as I did my emotions were gradually morphing back into anger. "I had planned to tell you that night in my flat when you insulted me. The burnt dinner, the outfit,…it was all for you. Daniel wasn't supposed to have been there. But given the hateful things you said to me, I was too furious to tell you. For a while after that, I thought by not telling you that would be your punishment. I wanted to hate you for the things that you said! And then Daniel told me he had found you pissed in the pub and I was glad that he hurt you." He stood before me, listening, blinking rapidly, expressionless. The lawyer in him not only makes him analytical to a fault, but also a good listener. He made no attempt to defend himself, though he'd already apologized for that particular incident a few weeks ago. I continued, "Every time I tried to tell you after that, you were either pissed or you did or said something to upset or push me away." He broke eye contact and stared at the floor. "I tried to tell you the other night, but…"

"I didn't give you the chance." Mark finished my sentence, his voice barely a whisper. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair, sniffling a bit as he did. He looked so tired, but at least, like me, he had finally had the chance to shower and change. He was now dressed in khaki trousers and a blue striped button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up and wrinkled at the bottom as if it had at one time been tucked in.

All afternoon and into the early evening, one tender moment…like when I'd found him in the baby's room, or what was to have been the baby's room, holding the tiny pink shoes and the knitted yellow jumper, and we'd end up holding each other, or I'd find him in the bedroom flipping through pages of Pregnancy Week-by-Week…would then segue into some accusatory snippy comment, or sometimes all out shouting match about…I don't even know what. It didn't matter anymore. There were more important things to worry about now.

Mark begrudgingly left after that. I asked him to go…not in a mean way, but I felt like we needed the space. I could just as easily handle the temper tantrums and crying jags on my own.

Was not long before I found myself with a Silk Cut in one hand and a brimming glass of Chardonnay in the other. Old habits die hard and never too far from resurfacing in difficult times.

----

Shazzer had kept her distance that day, something about having a prearrangement to visit her mum in Coventry. Just bad timing, or possibly avoidance. Not sure. But Jude came round as promised with a rather surprising revelation.

Jude had been married several years before meeting Vile Richard. All I had known was that she had been "young and foolish". She never talked much about it otherwise…a painful mistake she had said. Shaz and I never pressed her for details.

She sat before me on the bed, stroking my hair. "Bridge, I understand what you are going through right now," she had said.

"How could you?"

When she revealed that the reason why she and her first husband had split up was because of a miscarriage, my jaw dropped. It was an understandably unhappy memory in her life, but in that moment I felt hopeful. She had gotten through it ok.

"Did you and…" suddenly had realized that I didn't even know his name. "your ex try again?"

She was shaking her head. "No. He and I had gotten married not because we were in love, but because I was pregnant. When that ended, so did the marriage." She smirked half-heartedly. "I felt like maybe in some Divine sort of way that it was a sign that Clive and I weren't supposed to be bound to each other for all of eternity and so the baby left us. I have since learned that he would have been a horrible father. He is quite the scoundrel, and very much like Daniel Cleaver. My family and friends at the time, along with a few dozen self-help books helped me through it after he disappeared." She pressed her hand into mine. "And now I'm going to help you, Bridge."

"So maybe this is a sign that Mark and I aren't meant to be."

"I can't say for sure, but I seriously doubt that. He loves you and you love him. Your problem is that you are both too prideful and stubborn to do anything about it."

I knew she was right, and I didn't need a self-help book to tell me.

"Bridge, you just need to focus your attention on other things…like work, or spending time with your best friends." She winked. I hugged her. "You know what helped me a lot was going to a support group for other women that had been through the same thing. It helps to realize that you aren't alone and you can hear what others did to move past the hopeless feelings and go on." I wasn't sure that I was ready to talk about it yet quite honestly. I hadn't even had enough time to digest it myself. "If you aren't ready for that there are also a lot of resources online. At work I looked some up and sent you the links. They're stories written by women who have been through it…some more than once. And you can ask questions too…I just thought, well, maybe you should take a look."

---

Amidst deleting the residual dating matches, porn and sexual enhancement adverts, had almost not noticed an email from MDarcy…Subject: I Owe You an Explanation. Was dated the day of our impassioned kiss on the terrace. Hesitated momentarily, feeling a surge of anxiety.

Jude was sitting behind me on the bed, her chin rested on my shoulder. She squeezed my hand and gestured toward the laptop as if to say, 'Go ahead. This is what you've been waiting for.' "Do you want me to leave the room while you read the note?"

"No, stay…please." Cautiously I tapped on the 'Read Email' icon fully expecting to read some nonsense about how he'd gotten cold feet about marrying me, or he thinks he's going through a midlife crisis and doesn't find himself attracted to me in the same way anymore. After all, that is the way he'd been acting…the drinking, the smoking, him showing up in odd places…it made sense. The bastard!

_Dearest Bridget,_

_I can no longer in good conscience keep this from you, and I feel that I owe you an explanation for my ambivalent behaviour of the last few months. Shortly after New Year I had a routine physical. The usual examinations were performed, and by luck, or not, depending on how you view it, an abnormality was found. It was discovered, by fluke actually, that my prostate was slightly enlarged. I was then referred to a urologist where it was then discovered that I did in fact have an elevated PSA level resulting in Stage 1 prostate cancer. _

_I am currently undergoing hormone therapy until a decision is made regarding the next course of action. My physician has given me a good prognosis pending proper treatment. That being said, nothing is ever certain. I didn't want to burden you with this and felt that it was best that you move on with your life, but events and circumstances have continued to draw us together. I do not know what the future holds for us, but please know that I will always wish the best for you. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me for any pain that I may have caused you._

_ Mark_

Nothing…nothing at all could have prepared me for that email. The email that he said he had written the night of our last encounter…the night I had been so angry because he had refused my advances, it never occurring to me that perhaps he had a legitimately good reason. How selfish I had been mistaking his nervousness…and all to satisfy my own hormonal libido. Thinking back still to the night at the cottage, his comment about disappointing me became so clear. It had nothing at all to do with his family. He is sick and was afraid to tell me. He was trying to protect me.

Felt like my heart was going to burst from my chest. Am fairly certain that Jude had said something, but I couldn't hear her. The pounding had been reverberating too loudly through my eardrums. Read the note over, two…three…maybe four more times to make sure that my eyes had not deceived me. Cancer? Mark has cancer? How? Why? He's too young! Cancer is for old people is what I had always believed. There had to be a mistake I thought.

Suddenly had been overcome by a wave of nausea and dashed to the toilet. Didn't know whether it had been because I had drank too much or if the news about Mark was just all too much…likely both.

"What are you going to do Bridget?" Jude asked, brushing my hair as I brushed my teeth.

"I have to find him Jude!"

"Right. I'll drive you."

----

**Note:**

Happiness (and hopefully humor) will return for Mark and Bridget very soon. I promise! But like in reality, there are sometimes obstacles and challenges. And through those obstacles and challenges love is shown. Colin Firth once said that he would not do another BJ film unless his character, Mark, was in a state of decrepitude. That statement was my inspiration for this storyline. It is also partially based on experiences of a close family member and prostate cancer survivor.


	23. Chapter 23 Beyond Reason

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXIII

Beyond Reason

**Sunday February 24 (cont.)**

**Mark's house** His Mercedes was parked outside and a light was on in the foyer, but there was no answer at the door. Yuki had likely been relieved of her duties for the day, and so if he was there, he was most likely alone. Let myself in with the spare key that I knew he kept hidden under the third plant urn from the left in the rear garden, and searched the downstairs, calling for him as I did. At last I came to his office. The door was ajar. The room was dark except for the sliver of light allowed by the open door from the corridor and the moonlight through the picture window just beyond the large mahogany desk at the far end of the room. When last I had been in there it was to confront him about his drunken infidelity. This time had been to confront him…or console him…or, I didn't really know at the time what I was going to do or say to him.

"Mark?" I switched on a nearby lamp. He was slumped on the leather sofa with his head propped up by his elbow, his hand covered his face. He looked so sad and broken. He was softly snoring. Knelt beside him on the sofa and placed my hand against his hot, bare chest where his partially unbuttoned shirt had been parted. I knew that I had frightened him, as not only did he flinch, but also his heart began to race beneath the pressure of my palm. He'd been drinking. I could again smell the pungency of whiskey. "I read the email Mark. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry Bridget." His voice was low and croaky. "I would never have sent you that email if I'd have known…"

"You're burning up Mark!" Moved my hand from his chest to his cheek. "I'm going to get you an aspirin and some cold water." Climbed off of the couch and rushed for the door.

"Don't bother. The hot flashes are just a symptom of the hormone therapy. It will pass." He didn't seem much up for talking. Could tell that the way he looked probably matched the way he had been feeling, and surely whiskey wasn't helping the matter at all.

"Hot flashes?" Stopped near the door.

"Yes, it appears that I'm going through menopause." He managed a smirk. I didn't. "Or at least that's how Mother describes it."

"Your mother knows?" He looked up at me perplexingly. "Oh…Right. Of course she does."

"As does Father, Peter, and Anastasia. They are my family. I had to tell them…" he responded tersely, followed by silence.

"I was going to be your family too…in case you've forgotten," I finally uttered meekly, trying not to let my words get caught by the enormous lump that had begun to form in my throat. Reflexively my eyes began to fill with tears and I bit my upper lip to stifle any sound.

"Oh God. That was insensitive…I'm so sorry. Unsteadily he rose to his feet and came to me, placing his warm, almost moist arms around me, drawing my head to his chest.

Only seconds later he broke from my grasp and went for the half-filled bottle on his desk. He was hurting so much more than I had ever imagined. It seemed unfathomable as to why he would want to go through this alone. Why hadn't his mother told me? Surely she wants what's best for her son…unless she, like her eldest son, is of the opinion that I am not worthy of the Darcy name. Grrrr Yes, that must be it. Why else would she rather have me believe that her family looks down upon mine than to just tell me the truth? What had I done, really, that was so wrong?

"Mark…" Didn't know what to say. I really didn't. Had so many things swirling through my mind at once. "You can't do this to yourself." He went to take a sip. He was not nearly as pissed as he had been the last time I'd found him in this state, as he was much more coherent, but still so troubled. "Stop it Mark!" Took the glass from his hand and flung it to the floor, shattering it to bits.

He gasped. "My Listone Giordano floor!"

"To Hell with the floor Mark! Your life is more important than bloody overpriced Italian wood!"

He didn't get angry. He didn't do anything but stare at the floor. When he finally faced me, he had tears in his eyes. "I'm afraid Bridget."

That emotional admission was likely the most difficult thing he'd ever said in his life. It frightened me to see him so unfettered…so…unDarcy-like. I was seeing a new Mark, insecure and vulnerable, but something tells me that that is who he really is and always has been…the side of Mark that is rarely, if ever, seen by anyone. Found myself wondering if Peter was secretly the same way. Doubtful.

"Let me help you Mark. I want to take care of you…" Took a step toward him, but he stepped back.

"No…no…no! I'm not who you want!" He was pacing back and forth through the wet, crackled glass, waving his arms in overly exaggerated gestures of distress. "You should just move on. I've told you this before." Had never seen him that way before, so emotionally anguished.

"How can you say that? I love you Mark." There. I had said it. He stopped pacing and was blinking nervously, chewing on his upper lip a bit. "I'm not going anywhere." You always wonder how you would react in times of crisis. Known for my bouts of lunacy, I surprised even myself with the inner poise I was displaying. Had to be his rock. Had to be strong in his hour of weakness.

"You don't know what you're saying! It's just not that simple!" He ran his hand across his face. "You _don't_ want me like this!"

"Like what? As a man who wants and needs to be loved and cared for? How could you even think such a thing?" I clung to him, and he to me. Suddenly, without warning, out of the deepest part of him came a volcanic sob…not tears, not a cry, but consuming, compelling sobs, one after another. I took him in my arms and rocked him until they subsided.

It's _beyond reason_ why this has happened to us. Why does it have to be so hard? All of the petty arguments and misunderstandings of our past melted away. None of it would ever matter again. The only thing that did matter was the two of us in that moment and where we would go from there.

We spent the next few hours huddled together on the sofa. He explained everything…how he had found out, his reaction, his parent's reaction, the tests he had undergone (some, if not most, quite humbling indeed). It just seemed so inconceivable that a healthy 39 years old man could have prostate cancer. But at the same time, I was feeling encouraged. It had been found early and there are several options for treatment. Must admit though that there is much more that I don't understand than what I do, and that is frightening.

As he continued to explain everything that he knew so far, there was still something that he was holding back. Could feel it in my bones in the same way that an arthritic person can feel inclement weather approaching.

He shifted uncomfortably beneath my grasp. "Well...you see, because of the treatment I've been doing…I'm a little...um, impotent."

"Wot! A little impotent! What does that mean? It only comes halfway up? That's like saying a woman is a little pregnant." Realized what I had said. Mark kissed my forehead.

Rested my head against his chest for a while. We sat in silence. "Mark?"

"Yes?"

"If you can't...er, then we can't...um…"

"No. Not right away anyway."

"Oh."

----

Couldn't sleep. Just laid there next to him wearing a pair of his flannel pajama trousers and white undershirt, watching his chest rise and fall, thinking. Wondering if it was going to be possible to rebuild our lives together knowing that things might never ever be the same again. Was so filled with questions, confusion, and doubt. I know that he wanted to believe everything I had said that night. And I sincerely wanted to believe that I meant what I had said too. In retrospect, the most perplexing relationship dilemmas I'd ever faced in my dreary dating history had all been trivial and shallow, in manner of intolerable back hair, bad teeth, or porn fetishes. Oh, and Trevor with the disturbingly large hair-tufted, Africa-shaped mole in the center of his chest that he lightheartedly referred to as his psychic third eye he called George. I found "George" to be less than enlightening. Then there was Liam and his hammertoes, the kind bent at 90-degree angles in a mangled mess. Always found myself stealthily trying to avoid becoming entangled in them during intimacy. Thoughts of us having hammer-toed children eventually became all too much and I had to chuck him.

Mark's problems ran much deeper than that, as neither a superficial nor character flaw, but rather a legitimate affliction that would ultimately affect both of us as a couple.

We couldn't comfort each other in our usual manner of mind-numbing sympathy sex, but for the first time we were able to have an honest two-way conversation about our feelings. Perhaps something good will come from our own personal Greek Tragedy after all.

The sound of Mark's voice broke my reverie. Without opening his eyes, "Bridget, are you watching me sleep?"

"Um…yes."

"Good." He rolled onto his side and pulled me close against his warm body. Yes, this is where I belong. I'm certain of it…I think.


	24. Chapter 24 Shattered Dreams

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXIV

Shattered Dreams

**Monday February 25**

_Weight: 9st7; Cigarettes: No comment; Inconsiderate celebrities causing self to have loss of baby healing setback: Several; Dates with hopefully soon-to-be reinstated future husband: 1_

**12:30pm **Had been awoken this morning from short restless sleep by trilling sound of Mark's mobile. Who would be so bloody rude as to ring someone before 8 am?

"Oh…hello. Is this Mark Darcy's phone?" asked Jeremy.

"Yes," I responded groggily, reburying my head beneath the pillow to fend off intrusive blinding sunrise through the sheer bedroom curtains. Mark and I had been up talking until v. early this morning and so was in no mood to socialize a mere four hours later.

"With whom am I speaking?" he continued with quizzical stiff politeness.

"Jeremy, who do you think it is!" Sat bolt upright in bed sending the pillow tumbling to the floor. "It's me…Bridget!" Who else would it have been, if not Mark himself? Had other women been answering his phone in the early morning hours? Surely not.

"Of course. I'm sorry I didn't recognize your voice at first. I hope I didn't wake you." There was an uncomfortable pause of dead air. "Could I speak with Mark please?"

Mark was in the shower. Could hear the water running, and so took the opportunity to give Jeremy a piece of my mind for withholding Mark's condition. He so obviously had known all along, and likely Magda as well. Will have a word or two with her later. By end of the conversation had, perhaps a bit too indignantly, informed him that from now on I would take care of Mark. Whatever he needed, I would handle it.

First order of business…go with Mark to doctor's appointment. Must learn all that I can about prostate cancer from licensed professionals, and what I can do to be a loving, supportive partner. Yes, v.g.

He wasn't exactly thrilled when he emerged from the bathroom to find me dressed in yesterday's wrinkled jogging suit (not that I had actually even once jogged in it) and trainers with hair pulled back into a scruffy ponytail. Was ready to escort him to Cromwell Hospital, a responsibility formerly held by his best friend and colleague. Jeremy had reluctantly informed me that Mark had a 9:00am appointment. Mark didn't want me to go, which was made obvious by the uncomfortable expression and petulant grumbling under his breath as he stalked about performing his morning rituals. Still trying to protect me I suspect. He'd tried everything short of binding and gagging me to keep me at bay, suggesting that I just to go back to bed. Obviously he had forgotten just whom he was dealing with. We strolled into the hospital lobby a short time later.

In the lift my mind reeled back to the unpleasant encounter in that very spot weeks ago. Began to tear up realizing why he had been there and how it had nothing at all to do with a broken finger. How gullible I had been. I then told him the real reason I had been there as well. Jude was right. We'd both been such prideful idiots.

When a tall, strikingly handsome middle-aged man in dark dress trousers and crisp blue shirt cloaked by a white lab coat approached us in the reception area we both stood. At that moment, had seriously wished I had not insisted upon coming along resembling Cruella DeVille's equally as horrid-looking skunk-haired sister. He shook Mark's hand and then looked expectantly at me. "This is Bridget Jones. Bridget, this is Dr. Reinholdt, my oncologist."

"_The_ Bridget Jones? From the television? I've seen your work. I am very pleased to meet you," he responded, offering his hand for me to shake. I smiled uneasily, not knowing whether it was a good thing or not that he had recognized me. Depends on which pieces he'd seen. I was less concerned with that, however, than I was with the fact that Mark had introduced me by name only. Not his girlfriend. Not his fiancé. Not even his friend. Was as if maybe I had simply come along to cover a story. Gaah!

"Shall we, Mr. Darcy?" Dr. Reinholdt gestured in the direction of a closed door at the end of the corridor. Began to follow, but then Mark stopped and turned to me, grasping my shoulders tightly at arms length. "Bridget, why don't you wait here. I won't be long."

"But Mark, please. I want to…" He silenced me with an unexpected forceful, but dispassionate kiss.

"I promise." Watched as he and his doctor walked down the long corridor and disappeared behind closed doors.

Things are going to be harder than I had thought.

Pacing brought little comfort, but plenty of irritated glances over the tops of books and magazines from other waiting loved ones and patients as I passed by them wringing and shaking my hands for the 10th…15th…20th time. Had nothing to do but worry. Wished I'd brought knitting needles. Would knit Mark a jumper…scarf…prostate cozy…something, anything to pass the dragging time. Tried to divert attention with available magazines, though not interesting ones…The Westminster Review, Men's Health, Men's Fitness, Match Fishing, Golf International. Had to go to another waiting area to find anything of interest and with less testosterone. Eventually located a month old issue of Hello.

When Mark returned 45 or so minutes later, was beside myself, and fiercely craving a cig. "What's the matter?" He knelt beside me. After finally seeing pictures of baby Suri, Princess Kiko's new son, Heidi Klum proudly flaunting baby bump at American award program, Britney giving birth to her second child Sutton Pierce, and reading that Victoria and David Beckham may or may not be expecting their fourth child, it was all too much. Mark ended up comforting me, and having to drive me home, rather than the other way around.

Any attempts to broach subject of cancer or this morning's appointment were met with, "Nothing to worry about. "Everything will be fine." He'd said nothing more in the car about it, but instead focused all of his attention on me, and making sure that I was okay. What had happened to the startling admission of fear of being sick…or worse yet, death? The honest and vulnerable Mark of last night? I wanted _that_ Mark back.

He's now at work and I'm alone, staring at drab walls of self's cluttered flat.

Message from Mum on answerphone: "Bridget Jones! Why haven't you rung me back? Are you not well?…" After scolding me once more, she began to spill gossip of how she and Una were coming from Debenhams when they saw Penny Husbands-Bosworth getting cozy with the young man across the coffee bar. "Frankly Darling, the young man seemed frightened. Why she's old enough to be his grandmother. I believe she must be going through some sort of midlife crisis, and in the winter of her life. Such a pity. She was positively pawing the poor fellow. Honestly it was so much like that Mrs. Robinson character from the cinema that just speaking of it now causes me to blush." There was a pause on the machine. "Honestly Darling, poor Penny's never been quite the same since having her ovaries done."

Why is it that such behaviour is appalling when someone else does it, but for her it's a way of life?

Soon found that she had left a similar message on my mobile. This time with additional gossip about her new friend from the health club's breast augmentation. Wanda's boobs went from a B cup to a D. Surely I was not really meant to know this.

Have decided not to tell Mum and Dad about the miscarriage. Do not think I could bear Mum's endless questions and smothering. Not to mention do not want all of Great Britain to know that I almost was not, but alas am _still_ barren.

**2:15pm** Mark just rang. Asked if I want to go out for dinner tonight. Hurrah!

**11:45pm **By the way it had begun, would never have predicted that our date would have ended the way it had.

Mark had arrived at my flat, buzzing the entryphone promptly at 6:30 sharp just as promised looking every bit as handsome in suit and tie as he had the first time I had seen him standing at my doorstep. By grace of God…and an admittedly excessive 3 hours of anticipatory primping, was dressed in slimming black scoop neck slip dress with disastrous hair swept up thanks to advice from Jude and Shaz via frazzled conference call.

Wasn't sure what to expect. His only instruction on the phone had been to dress semi-formally. Goody! Love surprises. Just hoped that he wasn't taking me to a Law Council dinner. The subtly sexy upward curl of his lips and the twinkle in his eyes indicated approval. "You look beautiful…Shall we?" he offered, extending his arm after helping me into my coat. Such a gentleman. Definitely on his best behaviour.

He'd made reservations for Bertorelli's in Covent Garden, the same restaurant that had catered our intimate engagement dinner on the terrace, that now unfortunately seemed a lifetime ago. A v.g. sign, I thought. But first he had arranged an engagement at the Royal Opera House across the street. V. exciting. Was fully expecting a lavish balcony seat overlooking a lovely ballet or orchestra performance. V. posh indeed. Was more Mark's taste than mine really, but v. much looking forward to just spending the time with him. Perhaps even a bit of snogging in the dark if am lucky. Having been through so much lately, we both needed a lovely night out to relax, refocus and reconnect, in spite of the challenges we now faced.

Mark had chosen the new 2-act opera House of Gods, a tale of fantasy, death, and sex. Said he thought of me when he read about it. Hm? But v. thoughtful all the same. The show itself was strange and in my opinion sort of a cross between Rocky Horror and Nightmare on Elm Street, but had a brilliant time anyway because I was out with my prince. A few times during the show I even pretended to be frightened just so that I could snuggle closer. As the house lights were coming up and other patrons were filing out of the auditorium, I showed Mark my appreciation by snuggling in once more and kissing him passionately. This time he did not resist. Hmmm…

As we left the theatre hand in hand for the restaurant, however, he became v. quiet. "What's the matter? Are you in pain?"

"No…oh, no. It's nothing like that. I feel fine. It's just that, well, I'm sorry that you didn't enjoy the performance. I was hoping tonight would be special. I wanted you to have a nice time."

"Mark…" I stopped, turned to face him, taking his other hand. "I am having a fantastic time. Tonight is special because I'm with you." He smiled ever so slightly.

The real trouble started while we were waiting to be seated and I opened my big mouth, though was unaware of what I had done at the time. A young couple with a child was waiting as well. It was a lovely scene. The little boy was sitting on his father's lap playing a rousing game of peek-a-boo. Couldn't help but feel a bit sad at the prospect that had things gone differently, that happy couple with a baby could have been Mark and me. "Isn't that lovely, Mark?" I asked, squeezing his hand.

"Yes" was all he said as I continued to watch the happy family. Mark finally spoke again moments later. "On second thought Bridget, I'm not feeling very well after all. Would you mind terribly if we didn't have dinner?"

"Of course Sweetheart. What is it?" Touched his forehead in a panic. "Are you having a hot flash?" He did not seem feverish. "We should go to the hospital straight away!"

"That won't be necessary. I'm just a bit tired is all."

In the car ride home I asked him again what the doctor had said this morning, but still he was reluctant to tell me anything. "Mark…I don't know what to do." Was difficult to continue through the sobbing tears that came. "You have to tell me…what's going on…so I can help you." We rode in silence for a while, he holding my hand as he drove. The tears had subsided but still the fear was overwhelming and so was the anger. "You can't die Mark! You just can't! Tell me what the doctor said or I will call him myself!"

He said nothing until we were inside my flat. "Bridget…" He exhaled heavily as if it was of great inconvenience for him to have to tell me. "The doctor didn't tell me anything today that I didn't already know. Ok! That's why I haven't said anything."

"You needn't be rude about it! I'm not going to apologize for caring!"

"I'm sorry about dinner. I should go." He started toward the door.

"No!"

"Pardon?" He turned to face me again.

"No! You are not leaving! You can sleep here. Stay in the spare room if you like, but you are not leaving! I am going to take care of you and we are going to get through this together. You are my responsibility."

"I don't want to be your _responsibility_! Or anyone else's for that matter!" he shouted. He ran his hands over his face and let out a low growl.

"I'm sorry. You are so much more than that to me. I love you Mark. You have to believe that."

He rushed toward me, wrapping his arms around my neck pulling me close to his chest, burying his face in my hair. "I do believe you Bridget, and I love you too. That's why this is all so difficult."

"I don't understand."

He directed me to sit with him on the sofa. Waited impatiently while he gathered his thoughts. "It's just that…I'm not sure that you fully understand the impact of it all and how it will affect us…_if_ we stay together."

"Oh my God! You are going to die, aren't you?…Aren't you?" Became completely overwhelmed with emotion.

He held me tightly to him. "Bridget, I'm not going to die. I promise you…I'm not going to die." Pulled my head from his shoulder, but remained close so that we were eye to eye. "But there are things you need to understand about the cancer treatment. It doesn't matter whether I choose chemotherapy, radiation, a prostectomy, or even just the hormone therapy that I'm already doing. I'm still going to be impotent…"

"But you said that wouldn't last?"

"I don't know how long it will last. It could be months…or even years."

"Years!"

"Years," he repeated. "And I know how important sex is to you and how important it has been throughout our entire relationship."

"You make me out to sound like a common tart!"

"I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention. Quite frankly, it's important to me as well. The thought of never being able to make love to you again without medical assistance scares the bloody hell out of me."

"So then it _is _possible…with help? Do you mean like Viagra?"

His chin dropped to his chest. "Yes, it's possible," he responded softly, as if embarrassed by the thought. Not exactly how I wanted our sex life to be rekindled, or even how I would want our wedding night to go, but if that's the way it has to be, then so be it.

Held his chin in my hand so that our eyes met again. "I don't care Mark. I love you, not your wee thing." Not entirely true, as I do quite love it also. It had served me well. The glassy reflection in his eyes broke my heart.

"There's more Bridget."

"More? What do you mean?"

"I mean that impotence is not the only side effect."

"Mark, I understand, and I will be as patient as I need to be. And I know you'll go through days when you won't feel well or you will be tired, but I already told you that I want to take care of you."

"That's not what I meant." Another heavy sigh. "The way you were looking at that couple tonight playing with their child…I know how badly you want that for yourself. Or the way your eyes lit up last year when you thought you were pregnant, and of course…"

"Just what are you trying to say?" I interrupted.

"What I'm trying to say is that it's very likely that I can no longer have children."

Dead silence passed between us. Didn't know what to say. One of my life long dreams had always been to have a baby. From the time Mum told me where babies came from when I was 12 years old, I've wanted to be a mother. By the time I was 32, I knew that I wanted Mark Darcy to be the father. Is this a cruel joke? "Are you sure?…Maybe that will come back in time as well."

"Bridget, without a properly functioning prostate my sperm count is…Oh what the hell does it matter? I just can't!"

"But I love you. I want to be with you and be the mother of your children. Please Mark…"

"It's not what I want either, dammit, but this is how it is! This was the hand I was dealt and _I_ have to live with it...but you don't. Please try to understand, my darling." We held each other. My dreams of a happy family were crumbling before my eyes. Am now faced with the dilemma of choosing between the man that I adore and motherhood. I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't prepared for the magnitude of what he had told me, though I do now understand why he feigned illness at the restaurant. His dreams are shattered as well.

He convinced me to go home for a few days, to Grafton Underwood, to the always well-intentioned but usually misguided advice of my mother. I should tell her and Dad everything, Mark advised. He wanted me to have time to heal and do some soul searching, away from the stresses of the city and of him. But what about the additional stress that will certainly be brought on by my own mother?

Agreed to call her in the morning.

"Mark, be honest…Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No my darling. I just want you to be sure of what you want."

**Tuesday February 26**

**5:40pm** We pulled into the gravel drive and could already see Mum and Una's bobbly heads peering through the front picture window. Mark retrieved my bags from the boot and we proceeded up the front walk.

"Bridget…my darling. Why on earth didn't you tell me? Una and I could have been knitting booties." She was squeezing so tight could barely breath.

"Mum, there is no baby. I had a miscarriage…remember?"

"Oh you poor dear," Una pouted, coming toward me with arms wide open.

Gave Una a perfunctory hug as I asked, "Mum, where's Dad?"

"Why he and Jeffery are off on a pigeon shooting holiday with Jeffrey's men's club in Sussex. Positively barbaric if you ask me. Didn't I mention on the phone that Daddy is away?"

"No Mother, you didn't." Gaaaahhh!

"They won't be home until Saturday." Oh God will be home alone with Mum and Una for 4 long days. But what a lovely birthday gift for Dad. Gave Mark a frightful glance and he reciprocated with a shrug.

Mum still had not acknowledged his presence next to me holding my bags. "Mum, may we go inside. It's getting a bit chilly out."

"Oh yes, of course." I proceeded in and then she stepped in front of Mark as he tried to enter behind me. "Just where do you think you're going young man?" speaking to him as if he was 8 years old. "I'll have you know that because of what you have done I have disowned your family. You and your parents are no longer welcome in my home."

"Mum?"

"No, I mean it Bridget." She turned back to him. "You impregnate my daughter, you are unfaithful to her, and then you harshly insult her and her family! Why Mark Darcy I do believe that you should be castrated!" Was speechless.

"Yes ma'am. I understand." He dropped my bags gently onto the porch. His tormented eyes found mine. Mum had no idea just how close to the bone her comment had cut him. "Please ring me if you need anything from home."

"This is her home and if she needs anything, I will get it for her!" Mum announced indignantly.

He was right. I need to sort things out, but when I saw him retreating back to his car, I had a sinking feeling. He needs me. Scooted past Mum and ran after him.

"Young lady, get back in here!" Mum's command was ignored.

At the car, stretched my arms around his waist, drawing him in tightly. He did the same.

--------

House of Gods is a new opera by Lynne Plowman and Martin Riley that is currently touring throughout Britain, but recently received unfavorable reviews in London.

Again disregard dates of actual events. I am incorporating current events but obviously changing when they actually happened.


	25. Chapter 25 Apologies

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

**Chapter XXV**

**Apologies**

**Wednesday February 27 **

_Weight: 9st 6 (Progress); Cigarettes: 2 (Very little chance to get away from Mum); Familial Jellyfish stings: Dozens; Missing dads: 1 (v. sad)_

**10:05pm Parent's house **There are few things worse than being jellyfished by self's own mother.All evening she and Una wavered between motherly thoughtful commiseration over loss of _their_ grandchild, and several rather shaming remarks in regards to allowing pregnancy to happen in the first place. Have spent nearly 4 futile hours trying to explain to Mum that Mark had not done the things that she had so brutally accused him of…Okay, so technically he had done _all_ of the things she had accused him of, but it was just as much my fault that I had gotten pregnant; he has only a vague recollection of shagging evil Rebecca after I stupidly threw him out of my flat; and the insults…though still quite cruel, were an attempt to make me hate him so much that I wouldn't be able to stand the sight of him. He was, in his own troubled mind, looking out for my best interests. As far as am concerned, all bad feelings toward him are in the past. Have not, however, told Mum that Mark has cancer.

Told them I had a v. large headache, and have now retreated to self's childhood bedroom that Mum has decorated with cheery new pastel-colored bed linens and fresh cut flowers. Lilies, my favorite. V. sweet. Everything else was just as it had always been since I'd left home for good 17 years ago, with exception of the photo of Mark that I had added to the décor about a year ago. It had prominently sat atop the bedside table, but was now missing. Grrr

Will have to figure way to get Mark back into Mum's good graces.

**10:35pm **Found picture of Mark in box on top shelf of wardrobe and have replaced on table. v.g.

**10:40pm **Used to think self would be envy of all Singletons everywhere having managed to snare handsome and successful Mark Darcy, top barrister and 1st rate sex god. Though still top-notch barrister, is quite incapable of being A-1 sex god due to heinous, unfair cancer of the prostate. To be honest, wasn't exactly sure what the purpose of a prostate was until two days ago. Just assumed it was one of those spare body parts in manner of appendix, tonsils, or male uncircumcised foreskin. Remember six years ago Mum's brother-in-law, John, discovered he had cancer, but he had the prostate removed and all was lovely again. Had not realized at the time that their sex life had been drastically affected. Grizzly thought really of people over age of 60 shagging. Gaah!! Could have massive heart attack during and then absence of prostate would be mute point. Funny thing is Auntie Joan and Uncle John seemed happier than ever when they visited from Birmingham last spring.

**10:45pm** Maybe is lesson to self that sex is not most important aspect of healthy, loving relationships and is not to be taken for granted and therefore should be doomed to suffer without.

**10:47pm** Surely not. Would be much too cruel to inflict Mark with vile disease for sole purpose of exacting revenge on self.

**Thursday February 28 **

_Weight: 9st6; Cigarettes: 10; New hairdos: 1 (Excellent); Moments unable to lounge on sofa due to unwanted physical activity: 125_

**10:25am** Is so nice to lie in without disturbing sounds of taxi hooters and bin lorries…Ugh!…mobile ringing. But maybe is Mark saying has decided that he's made a terrible mistake, cannot live without me for one more second, and is coming to get me.

**10:30am **So much for sleeping late or trying to have serene existence. Was not Mark at all, but Richard Finch calling to remind me that I in fact still had a job to do and that every day that my sodding project wasn't completed was costing him and the station money. He was cordial enough though. Likely afraid Mark would bite his head off again. Lucky for him, Mark wasn't here.

Wish Mark was here.

Agreed to return to London tomorrow for the day to finish the project. Grrrr

**11:45am **"Darling, I know the perfect thing to get you out of the grumpies and over that bad man once and for all," Mum called from somewhere upstairs.

"I am not grumpy; I am sad…and Mark is _not _a bad man. I love him. And besides, I'm very busy," I shouted back. Was lying on the sofa watching telly.

"Nonsense Darling, Una and I know just how to snap you out of it." The sound of her voice was looming closer, but I was still staring blindly at the telly. "Tra-la!"

Lifted my head lazily from the sofa already angry that she insensitively thinks I'm just going to 'snap out of it'. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Language Darling." She twirled herself around. "What do you think?"

Mum had on a one-piece, skin tight, yellow, red, and blue Lycra alien suit with coordinating pointed helmet. "Honestly Mum I think you look ridiculous!" Is it so much to ask to have a normal biscuit-baking, jumper-knitting mother like everyone else?

"Oh poo! You and your father are just simply no fun at all." She explained that she, Una, Jeffrey, and Dad (likely against his will) have joined a cycling team. "Una is bringing over her daughter, Leah's outfit for you to borrow and you can ride Daddy's bicycle. Didn't know which was more disturbing, the image of self in ghastly unitard or of Dad in ghastly unitard. Likely we both resemble brightly colored, Extra Large Grade A, Easter eggs.

"Mum, I'm _not_ wearing one of those!"

"Why ever not Dear?"

"Well for a start, someone might see me." How could they not. Could likely be spotted in space, mistaken as misplaced alien life form, and zapped back to the mother ship.

"And what's wrong with that? There are some lovely young men on our cycling team. Do you remember Henrietta Langham's youngest son, Sean?"

"Is that the one that is 38 and still lives at home, or the one with the cocaine habit? No thanks. I'm not interested in being set up again." She flapped her hand dismissively.

"You can't just lie on the sofa all day sulking in your pajamas."

"Yes I can. Watch me."

"Young lady I do not appreciate your nasty, negative attitude. You may be too old for me to wash your mouth out with soap, but you certainly aren't too old for me to tell you what I think is best. Now I know that you've had a traumatic experience, but the worst thing you can do is sit and stew in it. You need some fresh air and something else to focus your attention on for a while."

Hate when she gets all motherly because, of course, she was right. "Fine, but can I at least wear a regular track suit?"

"Of course. I just thought the unitard would be fun." Her smile returned. "Now then, we really must get your hair and your colors done first. I'll make an appointment for later today. However else will you catch a man looking like that? You look like hell, Darling," she announced matter-of-factly before bounding back up the stairs.

"_Language_ Mother." Crashed my head back down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh.

**12:15pm **Still lying on sofa. "Good news Darling. My colorist can fit you in at 1:00." Barely raised my head to look at her, still in that hideous outfit. "Well come on. Off you go." I didn't move. "Bridget, did you hear me? We mustn't be late for your appointment."

"Mum? Are you disappointed in me?"

"Why ever for?

"Because I've buggered up again." A single tear trickled from the corner of my eye, over the bridge of my nose, and onto the sofa.

"Of course not." She sat me up and hugged me against her.

**3:30pm **Have just been expertly transformed into a sexy goddess complete with new honey blonde wavy tresses. Will be envy of all aspiring television journalists. Excellent! Will look fantastic for the camera tomorrow.

**9:30pm **Cycling with Mum's team was excruciating, and not just because was forced to look at 70-year old men in tight Speedos. Had no idea just how out of shape self was until I'd gone half a kilometre on Dad's bike, having been left in the dust by almost everyone except for two ancient women in tacky sun visors on oversized tricycles, and was ready to turn around and walk back. Was tempted to beg for a few hits from their oxygen tanks. Mum and Una wouldn't let me, and to make matters worse, Sean was hovering way too close for comfort literally riding circles around me with a predatory look in his eye. Mum, Una, and Henrietta kept looking back and smiling. V. awkward indeed, especially after I developed a cramp in my inner thigh and Sean offered to massage it out. Gaah!

Ooo…mobile.

**10:15pm** "Mark?"

"No such luck Bridgeline. So how's my favorite neurotic, knocked up, heterosexual?"

"Oh hi Tom."

"Is that the best you can do?"

He hadn't heard about the baby, and when I told him he apologized for sticking his foot in his mouth.

If one more person tells me "It was for the best…the baby was probably sick…it just wasn't meant to be…." am going to scream my bloody head off! Clichés! So many clichéd responses meant to be comforting sentiments, but instead were just the opposite. And then of course, "You can try again in a few weeks." That's the worst one, because now that's not possible.

"Just get back on the horse and try again."

"And just which horse would that be, Tom?"

"None other than that sexy stallion of yours, of course." That was Tom's attempt at levity in an awkward conversation.

Told him about Mark's cancer. "What?! He's too gorgeous to be impotent!"

Exactly what I thought.

**Friday March 1**

_Weight: 9st7; Cigarettes: Gaah!!!; Unexpected encounters: 2; Shocking news: 1_

**10:00am Sit Up Britain office** "Taking the job a bit seriously, were we Bridget? Doing some extensive research, hm? What must that boyfriend of yours have thought?" Finch teased inconsiderately.

Had woken up late, nearly missing the train, and broken heel on self's shoe stepping on tube grate. Was in no mood for games. "I beg your pardon?"

"Getting yourself sprogged up on company time. Do you even know which poor bastard the father was?"

"I most certainly do know who the father was!!! And for your information, I did not have sex with any of those men! I was strictly professional." Not true of course, but my brief affair with Tim is none of his concern.

His demeanor suddenly changed. "Ok, ok…Listen Bridget, I've heard about these things, this thing you women go through…you know, _afterward_. Do you need to speak with someone?"

"No. I do not. I will be fine," I replied through smiling clinched teeth, with every ounce of inner poise I could salvage. Dismissed self and proceeded toward the editing room.

**10:30 pm At Caffé Nero** Was standing on queue, distracted by thoughts of under-aged posers, transvestites, and cheating middle-aged Tories when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. Turned to see a v. familiar handsome face. "Hello Bridget. How are you?"

My heart began to race. Wished that he didn't still have that effect on me. Why do I always seem to form lasting attachments to men who betray me? "Oh, Hello Tim." Tried not to look overly excited to see him. Didn't know what else to say so I swallowed hard and smiled. We both stood motionless, staring at one another until the woman behind him grew rudely impatient and insisted that we move forward or get out of the queue.

"Are you here alone?" He scanned the room, presumably looking for Mark.

"Um, yes. I just thought I'd pop in for lunch."

"Care for any company?"

----

Felt as if I was cheating on Mark as I sat nibbling on a ham sandwich watching Tim bite into his pastrami, his deep brown eyes fixed on me. "So, how is work? Have you finished your project?"

"I'm finishing today, but I'm not sure when it will be aired."

"I will certainly look forward to watching it when it is." He smiled warmly, accenting his perfectly straight white teeth and delicious dimple.

"I'm not mentioning anything about you…er, us. I mean what happened between us."

"Well maybe you should." Was shocked. Why would he want me to do that? What had happened between us was too personal. "You are supposed to report on successes as well, aren't you? I would say that our relationship was successful, or it would have been under normal circumstances." He dipped his head as if he was searching for some lost treasure in his soup bowl, and then lifted his head again to meet my eyes. "I truly am sorry, again, for what happened. I should never have agreed to such a ludicrous plot. And I certainly didn't expect that I would have…um…" He stopped short.

"Would have what?"

"Nothing. Not important. So how is Mark? Should I assume that the two of you are well?"

Was my turn to examine my soup. There were too many taboo subjects between us. I didn't want to talk about what he had done, or rather what he and Peter Darcy had done. I didn't feel right talking about Mark, and I certainly couldn't tell him about the baby. He'd likely question the paternity. Not that I would blame him. "I'm not sure." He furrowed his brow. "You see, well,…Mark is…ill."

"Ill?"

"Yes. He has cancer…prostate cancer. Only his family knew. And I suppose you knew as well?" I accused. Could feel tears burning the corners of my eyes, but refused to let them fall.

"Oh God Bridget. Of course I didn't. I had no idea. I'm so sorry." He attempted to place his hand over mine, but I pulled away. "Is he seeking treatment?"

"Yes…I mean I assume so." My voice cracked and tears I'd been suppressing began to fall. "He won't tell me what he's going to do. It was difficult enough just for him to tell me what was wrong. Instead he sent me away to my parent's in Grafton Underwood. Says he wants me to think about what I really want. Truth is, I don't know. I thought I did, but maybe he was right. My friends don't even think I'll be able to handle it. Tim, I'm so confused." He changed seats and sat in the chair closer to me and stretched his long arms around my shoulders. He offered me a napkin as I continued to cry on his shoulder. My mobile was ringing in my handbag, but I ignored it.

I knew that I shouldn't have done it, but I lifted my head from his shoulder and pressed my lips to his. At first he resisted until I assured him that I knew what I was doing. He threaded his fingers through my hair and kissed me long and tenderly.

I didn't know what I was doing at all.

"No…no…I'm not going to do this to myself or to you." He extracted himself from my reach and stood. "Bridget, this is wrong." His voice boomed a bit too loudly, prompting nearby café patrons to gawk.

"Why?" Maybe it's not. Maybe fate has brought us here right now…this minute, for a reason."

"I don't think you know what you are saying." He sat back down in his original seat across from me and reclaimed my hand. "Your heart belongs to Mark, not me. I'm going to be honest with you and say that I wish that wasn't so. Telling the truth and letting you go was one of the most difficult things I've had to do in a long time. Nothing's changed Bridget. You are in love with Mark Darcy. I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice whenever you speak of him, even today. You're just understandably frightened right now. And I'm thinking that he is perceptive enough to recognize that this time away from him was exactly what you needed so that you can come back to him with a true understanding and appreciation for what the two of you mean to one another. That, I truly believe, is the reason why fate has brought us here today...so that I can be that friend who tells you that it's okay to be scared, but to not let that fear take over and make you lose sight of what or who is most important to you."

Am now indebted to Tim Harbeson for caring enough to save me from myself. Where was he when I inexplicable seemed unable to release myself from Daniel Cleaver's suave spell?

He offered to drive me back up to Mum and Dad's after work and we had a nice long chat on the way. I hope that we will be able to remain friends and that Mark won't be jealous.

---

"Why haven't you rung me back Bridget!" Mum crowed, hurrying down the front steps. "I've been trying to reach you all afternoon on your mobile." She suddenly became distracted by Tim getting back into his car, and her tone became less urgent. "Why don't you introduce me to your handsome friend, Bridget." She was waving and grinning foolishly at him.

"No Mum. He's just a friend that I met through work."

"Maybe you should get to know him..."

"Mum please stop." I turned and waved to Tim and he began to back out of the drive. "Now, what was so urgent that you rang me three times?"

"So you did know that I had called?" She was hurt.

"I'm sorry Mum. I've been very busy today. So what did you want to tell me?"

"Well, I was chatting with Penny this morning who overheard her housekeeper talking with the Darcy's cook…" Great. More gossip. "She was given the day off because the Admiral and Elaine were going down to London today. Apparently Mark is in the hospital. Do you know anything about that, Dear?"

15 minutes later was on my way to Cromwell Hospital with Tim. Thankfully he had not gotten very far when I rang him.

---

Scrambled into the hospital and into the lift as if running from self's own fiery arse. Oncology, 5th floor…longest, most excruciating lift ride of my life.

"What room is Mark Darcy in?!!!"

An attendant took his time browsing over a list on a clipboard. "512, but…" Didn't give him opportunity to finish as was off in mad search of his room.

Mark was alone in the room, his eyes were closed, and he was dressed in a flimsy hospital gown, with wires and machines hooked to his arms and midsection.

"Mark!!!!" Tried to run to his bedside but a woman wearing a surgical mask and pink scrubs that I hadn't noticed emerged from behind a partition, grabbed my arm, pulling me back gently.

"Ma'am, you can't be in here right now."

"But I need to see him!!! Please!!!" The sight of him lying there so vulnerable and seemingly lifeless brought a panic that I had never in my life felt before. "What happened?…Why is he here?…He told me that he was going to be alright?" The nurse didn't have a chance to answer before I collapsed to the floor in a fit of hysterical tears.

Moments later felt arms around me, lifting me, pulling me tightly into his embrace. "Bridget, you need to come out into the corridor with me," a deep, soothing voice announced, sounded very much like Mark. Craned around to stare straight into the eyes of Peter Darcy, also wearing a surgical mask. This truly was a nightmare.

"No! You stay away from me!" I struggled to release myself from his hold. Mark stirred restlessly but didn't awaken.

"Bridget, please. I understand how you must feel about me, but you can't be with him right now."

"You don't understand _anything_!!! I love him and he loves me and there is _nothing_ you can do to change that! Go away and leave us alone!" Tried to lunge forward and take Mark's hand.

"Sir, should I call security?" asked the nurse with the en suite phone already in her hand.

"No, that won't be necessary." He turned his attention back to me. "Bridget, I'm not trying to keep you from him, but he's still under quarantine right now."

"Quarantine? But why?" I shouted half crazed, still fighting to release myself from his arms that were around my waist.

"Come outside with me and we will explain."

"We? Explain what? No…No! I want to stay with Mark!" He moved slightly and groaned, but didn't awaken.

"If you don't calm down and come with me, security is going to escort you from the building!"

Reluctantly, I looked back at Mark again, looking so fragile, and then let Peter lead me out. The same nurse that had tried to stop me, now held the door looking frightened of me.

Peter led me silently by the elbow to the same waiting area where I had been earlier in the week. Admiral and Mrs. Darcy and Anastasia were there, as were Jeremy and Magda without the children. "Bridget Dear! We weren't expecting you," Mark's mother remarked with surprise, springing from her chair. "How did you find out that Mark was here?"

"It doesn't matter how I found out! Why didn't anyone tell me?!" I glared at Magda. "What happened? Is he in a coma? Why is Mark quarantined?" I felt cold all over, but my face was burning.

"Nothing unexpected has happened, Dear. Mark is receiving cancer treatment. He didn't want us to tell you because he didn't want you to worry."

"Didn't want me to worry?? That's all I've done!" Began to pace. "What treatment?" Felt as if my heart was about to burst from my chest. "He told me that he hadn't decided what he was going to do yet!"

"He's had radiation seeds implanted. That is the reason for him being placed in isolation…until the radioactive material is absorbed into his body," the Admiral factually explained without so much as a hint of emotion in his voice. "He only decided upon the procedure this past Monday."

My heart dropped into my stomach. "What!!?? But I was with him…here on Monday. He didn't say a word to me about any decisions!" The Darcys exchanged worried glances. Ran my hands through my hair. "No, no, no…I shouldn't have agreed to go to my parent's. He should have told me. Why didn't he tell me?! Why?"

No one said anything at first as I paced impatiently waiting for answers. "Bridget, the effects of the anesthesia should wear off very soon and assuming that the procedure is successful, he'll be able to go home tomorrow morning. He was planning to tell you when you got home. With everything that you've been through in regards to his health and your miscarriage, he wanted something positive to report. He felt like you had been through enough."

"Miscarriage?" Peter interrupted his mother.

"Yes Peter, I was pregnant with your brother's child when you attempted to get rid of me for good!" I spat. He said nothing, glancing shamefully at his parents. I collapsed into an adjacent chair and dropped my head into my hands and began to sob.

"Son, what is she talking about?" Admiral Darcy asked. I wasn't interested in how he was going to explain what he had done. My only concern was Mark.

"Bridget?" Could still hear Peter and his father talking, but Mrs. Darcy had knelt down and was stroking my hair. "Try to be patient with Mark, Dear. I know he's taken some missteps, but with you he's found love that he's never had before and he's still learning to trust that love."

Lifted my head, and through tear drenched eyes I asked, "Why doesn't he trust me?" Actually, could answer my own question in two words: Daniel Cleaver. But I thought we had moved past that.

"Oh Darling, he does. He knows that you love him." She embraced me tightly. "Unfortunately Loni wasn't the only woman who has broken his heart and he's still afraid to let his guard completely down." I pulled away in shock. A silent profound moment passed between us as I stared intently into the eyes that mirrored those that I loved so much. "He's afraid he's going to lose you."

Was shaking my head, tears burning my eyes like fire. "I'm not going to leave him." Mrs. Darcy offered me a tissue. "He's everything I've ever wanted."

---

An agonizing hour or more had passed, and barely a word had been spoken between anyone. I kept my distance from the group, staring blankly through the window. Finally, the same nurse who had asked me to leave before approached them and announced that Mark had awoken and that things looked good. There was a collective sigh of relief. It would be another few hours before the quarantine would be lifted though.

"Bridget?" Was Peter staring down at me.

"Go away."

"Please. I would like to offer you my sincerest apology."

"For what, that your plan to extract me from your family's life failed, or for being an arsehole?" Continued to stare at the passing cars on the street.

"Yes…I'm mean no. I want to apologize for judging you so harshly, and yes, for being an arsehole. My ill behaviour toward you and your family was reprehensible and unjustifiable. I thought I was doing what was best for the family, but in fact, my family adores you."

"So did your father send you over here with that speech?"

"Perhaps this was a bad time to discuss this. Hopefully in time we will be able to get past it."

Snapped my head around. "I'll let you know," I replied with fierce arrogance.

He walked off but moments later was back again. "We are going to dinner, my family and I. Would you like to join us?"

Was not going to leave. Not this time. Had been sent away before, but that will never happen again. Ever.

Felt a hand on my shoulder. "I told you, I am not leaving." Turned away from the window. Was Magda. Turned back toward the window. "What do you want?"

"Bridget, he made us promise not to say anything. I kept telling him it was wrong to shut you out, but you know better than I how pig-headed and proud he can be sometimes. Please don't let this ruin our friendship."

A long moment passed. My mood softened. "Magda, why doesn't Mark realize how much I love him?"

"He knows…But he's just so terrified of disappointing you. Everything he's done has been for you. It's just that…well, you put so much emphasis on how brilliant a lover he is…."

"Wait a minute. He talked to you about our sex life?"

"Yes, and don't think he wasn't embarrassed, but he needed to talk to someone. The man keeps so much bottled inside, it's a wonder he doesn't spontaneously combust. Anyway Bridge, he's afraid if he can't perform for a while or give you children that you won't love him and ultimately you will leave him."

Since when had he begun thinking like Jude, Shazzer, and Tom? Actually, not Jude so much as the others. "That's bollocks!"

"Is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"He also told me that you once bragged to your mum about how virile he was and that he'd never need, you know, _help_."

"He should know better than to take anything I say to my mother to heart!"

"Maybe he didn't at the time, but now in light of the situation, it's something he worries about. He feels less of a man. Bridge, be honest with yourself…what if he's unable to have children. Are you okay with that?"

"We'll try. If that doesn't work, maybe we can adopt. We can even adopt a child from a third world country. Everyone's doing it now."

"What if his temporary impotence becomes permanent?"

"Then we'll buy stock in Viagra."

**Saturday March 2**

_Happy reunions: 1_

**10:15am** Must have fallen asleep on the waiting room sofa last night and no one bothered to wake me once the quarantine was lifted. My back was killing me. The Darcys were nowhere to be seen, neither were Magda and Jeremy. Oh God! They've taken him home and left me here!

Hobbled over to reception to confirm my suspicion. "Good morning Miss Jones." Was greeted with a pleasant smile. "Are you here for Mr. Darcy," the same nurse from last night chirped.

"He's still here?"

"Yes ma'am. Before they left last night, his family said that you would be taking him home this morning. He should be ready for discharge as soon as the doctor has finished. Go ahead on in."

Dr. Reinholdt was coming out as I approached. He gave me a thumbs up before disappearing down the corridor. Crept slowly into his room. His eyes were closed but he was no longer connected to any wires. "Mark Sweetheart, I'm here."

His eyes popped open. "Bridget, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, but Mother told me that you were here."

Dropped my handbag onto the floor and ran to his bedside. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, do you hear me?" He placed his hand on the back of my head and pulled me to him, kissing me tenderly. "I love you Mark."

A tear rolled down his cheek. "I love you so much Bridget." We laid together on his bed snuggled in each other's arms. There was truly nowhere else I'd rather be.

Dr. Reinholdt had given him an excellent prognosis, and with rest he'd be getting around in no time. Seed implantation not only is the fastest method of cancer treatment, but also the least likely to cause prolonged impotence in an otherwise healthy man. V.g.

Helped him sit up and change into his trousers. I buttoned his shirt as he ran his fingers through my hair, likely in a sad state due to uncomfortable night on a vinyl sofa. He pulled me closer so that I was standing between his legs. "Bridget, is something on your mind? You've gotten awfully quiet."

"Well…"

"What is it, my darling? Your wish is my command." He released his fingers and knitted his brow.

"I do have a little something in mind." Put on my most serious face.

"Anything." He appeared worried.

"Do you think that perhaps I could have that ring you gave me back?"

"Does that mean that you want to marry me?" His eyes turned hopeful.

"I thought if _I_ asked, maybe it might actually happen. So what do you think?"

"That wasn't very romantic," he teased.

"At this point, does it matter?"

"I don't know Bridget. I feel slighted without flowers and moonlight."

"Oh stop." I pushed him lightly against the bed, careful not to cause any unnecessary pain.

"What about your friends?"

"Well, Jude's already married, Tom's a poof, and Shazzer…well, I just don't love her in quite that way, so I guess that just leaves you."

He chuckled. "It's good to know that I made the list. What I meant was that they don't exactly like me."

"Tom likes you. He likes you _very_ much." I winked. He blushed.

"I'll keep that in mind," he whispered.

"The girls will come round. Shaz and I didn't like Richard either, but he turned out not to be so bad…with the proper training." I smiled again. "I'm sure you can be trained as well."

"Is that right?" He snuggled his face into the curve of my neck.

"Mr. Darcy…" The door swung open and in walked a uniformed young man toting a wheelchair. "Oh! I'm sorry to interrupt. I just need for you to sign your discharge papers and you're free to go.

I leaned in close again. "Let's go home."


	26. Chapter 26 Help?

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXVI

Help?

**Sunday March 3**

_Weight: 9st 8; Cigarettes: 5 (bad, as am back on anti-smoking wagon, but couldn't help self while out with the girls after self could no longer stand watching Mark sleep); Sit-ups: 2 (poor substitute for sex, will try again tomorrow); Hours watching Mark sleep due to post-procedure medication: lost count (v. bad); Shopping trips: 1 (just a few goodies to enhance reunion with Mark); Suitcases/holdalls packed and transported to Mark's home: 8 (Progress); Parents not told that their daughter will now be shacked-up with boyfriend/fiancé for remainder of engagement: 2; Graphic shag flashbacks: numerous; Actual graphic shagging: 0_

**7:35am** Awoke to nauseous queasy feeling. Cannot be pregnant as immaculate conception is not really plausible, is it? Oh God! Am never again going to have an orgasm! Clutched my knees to my chest and dropped my head onto them with a heavy sigh. Mark was exhaling softly to my side. What if getting married isn't the right thing to do, I couldn't help but feel in the clarity of a new day. Yesterday Mark and I had been deliriously happy as a newly reunited engaged couple, hugging and kissing as lovers do, but now…Oh God, am I having second thoughts? Can't be! Stop it! What's wrong with me? Mark is a wonderful, loyal, kind man. Any woman should be lucky to have him as her one and only...even with cancer. But what if things get buggered up again? I mean, who's to say that the next time we have a row, he doesn't storm out the door, or even worse, I throw him out and the same bloody thing happens again?

But look at him lying there so peacefully…

**7:40am** Don't be ridiculous Bridget. You and Mark have weathered the storm and now everything will be brilliant. Should ring Jude just in case…

**7:50am** After customary 'Never call before 10' bitchy rant, she let me plead my case… "Listen Bridge, you and Mark are meant to be. Haven't you figured that out by now?" she said wearily, having heard it all before. "You've got to stop listening to those voices in your head, and the voices in Sharon's head for that matter, and start listening to your heart…So go crawl back into bed with him and enjoy the rest of your reunion weekend."

Brilliant advice.

**Monday March 4**

_Weight: 9st 8; ferocious beast attacks: 1; wills written: 0 (v. bad); sit-ups: 0 (disastrous); fiancés: 1_

**9:45am Sit Up Britain office **Was an email from Richard Finch awaiting my arrival. It seems that the technical lot is sorted and my special report will be aired on telly tomorrow evening along with two other stories about single women in the 21st century. The programme is entitled _Life and Love in London: A Sit Up Britain Hidden Camera Investigation_. Hurrah! Just hope that in final editing Richard and those bollock-brains upstairs didn't somehow butcher it into some sort of tit fest. They've done it before. Wouldn't put it past them.

But am feeling quite confident. Have sneaking suspicion that all headaches and frightful encounters are about to pay off big. Am sure to become an inspiration to all fellow relationship challenged people…I mean former fellow relationship challenged people, as can no longer count self among the lovelorn. Held hand out to admire reinstated sparkling engagement ring just as I had remembered it all gorgeous and expensive. Cannot believe I once nearly threw it out the window. Yes indeed. Things are finally coming back together and shaping up nicely.

Couldn't wait to ring Jude and Shaz at work to tell them the fantastic news. Pulled out a pot of Precious Pink nail enamel from the desk drawer and slipped off my cute, new wedge court shoes while waiting for Shaz to pick up. Can hardly believe it…Wednesday morning everyone will be talking about me (in a good way of course), about what a witty and insightful television journalist I am. Won't be long until I'll be on the VIP guest list of all the poshest parties, clubs, and restaurants and hanging with new BFFs Victoria, Katie, Gwyneth, and Stella. With an ironic giggle I promised Shazzer that I wouldn't forget about her when I'm famous…

Swiveled rolly chair round to grab handful of rice crunchies, but was mortified to find Richard Finch in an obnoxiously green shirt and outdated brown Sansabelt slacks gawking at me from the cubicle opening. "Oh, uh…That will be fine. Yes. Thank you very much for the information…sir." I replaced the phone quickly without saying goodbye.

"President of Zimbabwe?" Richard queried. "Rumour has it that he's actually a mauve man, and don't let him tell you otherwise." I swallowed visibly with an uneasy smile while lowering my freshly painted naked feet from the desk. "Do you not have enough to do Miss Jones?" he said calmly, but sternly. "I want that feedback on Blair's Africa initiative in my inbox by 1, and don't forget you've got that rodent woman at 3."

"Of course," I managed to eek out. He started to walk away.

"Oh, and I wouldn't get too ahead of myself there with those fantasies if I were you. It was just a little human interest story." I felt deflated. Wanker.

Was just about to get started with that Africa business when Jude rang back. "Oh good! Guess what…"

**10:50am **Oh God. Just turn around and walk away before he sees you, told self. "Bridge!" Damn.

"Daniel. You're back," I greeted nonchalantly just 5 steps short of ducking into the ladies' with an armload of file folders. "How was Mexico? Encounter any anacondas…wolves?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Never mind." Made a second attempt to escape.

"Have you missed me? I think your breasts have."

"Wot??!!!!"

"Your breasts." He pointed from one to the other stupidly as if I might have forgotten where they are. "They've shrunk! I'm sorry I wasn't around to arouse you."

"Right." Was determined to present self as completely unwavered by Daniel's hurtful comment regarding self's post-miscarriage physical state. "Daniel Cleaver, your further and further decent into pigatude astounds me." He chuckled arrogantly before shoving his hands into his trouser pockets and swaggering off. Have become a source of entertainment for lecherous man. Cannot believe I ever wasted one moment of time with him.

But then he stopped and turned back toward me. "By the way, I saw the completed bits of your internet story…Quite good work Jones." And then he was off.

**11:30am **Really should be working on that Africa report, but instead am watching webcast of last night's Strictly Come Dancing. Am thinking should really take ballroom dance lessons if am going to be proper wife of important barrister. Would be crucial not to trip over self's evening dress or stomp on husband's toes at important social engagements. Lessons may also be useful so as not to resemble a buffoon with two left feet during first dance as a married couple at wedding reception. Yes…v.g. Will add to list of things to do before the big day.

**11:35am** Do not yet know when big day is. Will have to discuss with fiancé when I get home.

**11:36am** Ooo…Will have to plan location of wedding and the reception as well. Perhaps somewhere exciting like France or Italy. Tom and Katie just got married in grand Odescalchi Castle near Rome. That would be lovely.

Maybe I should ring Mark with the suggestion.

**11:38am** On second thought…had better not. He's taken the week off and is likely resting.

**6:40pm **After lunch, the camera crew and I headed out to Edenbridge to interview a woman who calls herself the Creature Communicator and in fact has over 300 of them that she had rescued because "they asked her to"…an assortment of mice, rats, chipmunks, voles, and squirrels, all living communally under the massive canopy of conifers, spruces, oaks, and English elms that are her garden. Though quite cute, all furry and small, the chorus of squeaks and chirps was almost deafening, and I found myself wondering if they were actually screaming for help. Madge, as she asked us to call her, took us on a tour of her expansive woodland sanctuary where critters were scampering about freely, others preferring the restfulness of a treetop grass and twig nest. They seemed content enough, but was having my doubts as to whether she could actually understand them. Maybe Madge is just a lonely old loon with "weird cat lady" syndrome. Nevertheless, I listened intently and asked plenty of questions that I thought my viewers would want to know.

Seemingly tame squirrels and chipmunks lingered near our feet as Madge dropped nuts and berries. I bent down with my hand extended to offer a nut and in return the squirrel brushed its soft tail against my hand and chirped before retreating to a nearby tree. "I think it thanked me!" I beamed.

"Yes he did," Madge confirmed. "And that tail brush was his way of asking if you had more." Maybe the squirrel had said that, maybe it hadn't, but as with Father Christmas, it's nice to believe regardless. Sure enough the same squirrel returned seconds later. At least I think it was the same squirrel. Was really enjoying myself…at one with nature. Lovely. Simply lovely. Perhaps Mark and I can have a peaceful outdoor wedding under the trees. Everyone will throw birdseed and the animals will follow us, munching along the trail of our ceremony procession. Yes. Brilliant idea.

As Madge and I walked along chatting, I noticed two beady black eyes staring up at me from beneath a fallen partially hollowed out log and leaned in to investigate. "And what do we have here? Another fuzzy little creature?" I sing-songed. "Would you like a nut also?" Big mistake!

"Don't get too close to that, dear," Madge warned. She was making a bizarre urgent clicking sound in the direction of the log, but it was too late. "That's an active..." There was a flurry of high-pitched screeching as it sprang forth, making contact with my face…

"Ohhh!! Bugger! Bugger!! Bugger!!! Get it off!!! It's biting me!!!!" Actually at moment of impact, it felt more as if half of self's face was being eaten away by a grizzly bear or similar. I wailed and flailed and fell backward onto my arse, losing grip of the microphone while trying to hold my cheek and left arm at the same time. Visible monstrous tooth holes began to ooze blood and I was woozy from the pain.

----

"Oh God! I have rabies!!! I know I do! Mark will never marry me if I am rabid…or dead! Is my mouth foaming yet??!!!! I think my jaw is locking!" Began to open and close my mouth in exaggerated motions. Do I feel feverish to you?"

"Bridget, calm down," Ken, one of the crew, shouted over my panic. "Roddy is driving as quickly as he can." Oh God! Will probably end up like Cujo, from that Stephen King film who slobbered all over himself, went mad, terrorized innocent people, and was eventually shot dead. Doom!!

"See? I'm already losing my mind!!!!" I shouted back, trying rather unsuccessfully to hold ice packs on all of my stinging wounds at once.

Rang up Shaz and Jude at work but got bloody voice mail, so I left panicked messages for both bequeathing all of my self-help books and remaining unopened bottles of chardonnay to them…oh, and my cute new purple sequined top from French Connection to Jude…and the matching suede boots if they fit. They will look fantastic on her. Felt bad not to be able to leave Shazzer anything of the sort but she's much taller and somewhat mammary challenged…Contemplated ringing Mark, but then decided that perhaps it will be easier for him to accept my passing and get on with his life without a heartfelt goodbye speech.

"Bridge, don't worry. You won't die today, maybe not even tomorrow. From what I've heard, rabies incubates slowly, painfully festering it's way into your brain. You'll have plenty of time to say your goodbyes and compose a proper will," Ken announced seriously. From the front of the caravan came a deep chuckle and then Ken joined in.

"That's not funny!" Arseholes. They wouldn't be laughing if I bit them.

----

Dr. Lundy assured me that I was not going to die…or slip into a coma…or even foam at the mouth as long as I got post-exposure propha-something shot treatment. Eww, hate needles! Am not even sure if the little bastard was rabid, but will have to have shots in the shoulder every week for 5 weeks to be safe.

Forget it! No outdoor weddings!! Too dangerous!

**8:30pm Mark's house (My house) **"Oh thank God! Your mobile is off. I've been worried sick!" Mark greeted me near the door, enfolding his arms around me tightly and then promptly loosening his grasp after he realized he was crushing my swollen arm. "Sharon rang about an hour ago asking how you were feeling. I felt foolish informing her that I had no idea what she was going on about."

"Sorry," I responded meekly into his chest.

"She said that you had been attacked by a wild animal!" He drew me back to look into my eyes. "Bridget??? My God! Why didn't you call me?!" He didn't seem angry, just deeply concerned.

"I…I…I didn't want you to worry." He was speechless, only shaking his head wearily and then pulling me back against him, burying his face into my hair.

Later we continued the conversation on the sofa. He massaged my tired calves and feet, as I told him about the assignment. "…I'm telling you, the beast was enormous!" Stretched my arms wide for effect. "It leapt right at me for no reason whatsoever with these long sharp claws and fierce dagger like teeth. I'm damn lucky it didn't rip my arms clean off." So I embellished a bit.

"Wow! That big, huh?" He reenacted my visual. "That must have been frightening," he replied calmly. I frowned.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Of course I do Darling. If you say it was a ravenous beast, then I'm sure it was."

"I didn't say ravenous," I pouted.

"I'm just glad you're okay." He kissed each of my three bandaged bite wounds and nestled me closer. "Want to watch some television?" He switched it from a football match that he had muted earlier to Eastenders and turned up the volume. He loathes Eastenders. We sat in content silence for several minutes, he continuing to rub my weary limbs.

"It was a vole. A tiny little field vole," I blurted, no longer able to bear the fish tale that I'd told.

"Pardon?"

"The ravenous beast. It was a fuzzy little mother vole that attacked me."

"I did wonder. Your wounds are quite small comparatively."

"I stuck my face too close to her nest." Mark pursed his lips together and touched the side of my face thoughtfully. "I guess it was just her motherly instinct to protect her babies…I know I'd do anything to protect…my babies." He held my head gently against his chest as I wept.

**Tuesday March 5**

_Weight: 9st 8; Stupid advice followed: 1; Embarrassing encounters: 1; Shocking yet fantastic revelations overheard: 1; Bags repacked but then unpacked again: 8; Important decisions proposed: 1; Fiancés: 1_

**7:15am **"No! No! Noooo!" I panicked.

Reflexively, Mark sprang from the bed, wincing in pain from the sudden jolt of activity. "What??!! What??!! Are you hurt? Did you hear something?" Mark was rubbing his eyes, by then in an awkward standing position.

"Look!" I pointed to my pillow. "I'm doomed."

"I don't see anything." He sat back on the bed and leaned in closer.

"Right there. See?" We were both staring down at a small damp spot on the pillow. He rolled his eyes dismissively and moved to vacate the bed once more.

"So you drooled on your pillow. You must have been sleeping with your mouth open. I'll ask Yuki to change the pillowcase. " He started toward the loo.

"How can you be so cavalier?! Don't you understand? It's starting!"

"What's starting?"

"The salivating! I'm going rabid!! And you're likely to be my first victim!"

He chuckled a bit, running a hand through his horn-pocked hair. "Bridget, don't be daft. You were probably just dreaming about a thick, juicy pork chop."

"I think I would remember if I was dreaming about a pork chop," I announced indignantly, getting out of bed. "I would never dream of pork chops! I hate pork chops!"

He had just entered the loo, but then poked his head back out. "You don't like pork chops, really?"

"No I do not…or ham either for that matter." He shut the door so I spoke louder. "I cannot believe after all this time you didn't know this about me."

"I guess a pig roast at our wedding would be out of the question then?" he called back through the door.

"Don't make jokes Mark. It's a very serious matter." He stepped out of the loo looking more refreshed, nearly knocking into me standing just outside the door. "Do we really know enough about each other to get married?" He pulled a face as if I'd just slapped him.

"What are you saying Bridget…that you want to call the whole thing off because I didn't know you disliked pork?"

"No. That's not what I'm saying. It was just a question is all." Was feeling foolish. "I'm sorry."

"Bridget Darling," he grasped my elbows gently. "I know everything I need to know about you…I know that you have a mother who drives you to near madness, alcoholic, overly opinionated friends…" Flashed him a sideways look of disdain. "In a good way of course…I know you are afraid of monkeys, snakes…and voles. I know that you have a tendency to exaggerate at times…I know you get the most adorable expression of wide-eyed wonderment when you're excited about something, and almost the identical expression when you think you've done something wrong. And you have the most tenacious, unpredictable way of completely changing a conversation to keep me on my toes…and I embrace all of it, because without them you wouldn't be the ravishingly beautiful, kind natured, quirky woman that you are." He threaded his arms around my waist, placed his mouth over mine and kissed me slow and passionate. "I can hardly wait until I will have the honour of introducing you as my wife…Mrs. Bridget. Darcy." He remained close enough that I could feel his breath against my face. "And speaking of our impending nuptials," He pushed away a wayward hair. "Despite the events of yesterday, I do quite like the idea of an outdoor spring wedding."

Stretched my arms around his neck once more. "I'll consider it," I said rather glumly recalling the vole. "But are you sure you wouldn't like to have a beautiful church…or castle ceremony?"

"On an ice plain in Antarctica if you like. Anywhere, as long as it's you standing with me, my love." He pressed his lips to my forehead, and then tipping my chin upward with his finger, he brought his mouth to mine again. No other man on earth ever has or will ever make me feel the way Mark Darcy does. Oh how I love him.

"Mark, come with me back to bed. I have a while yet before work." With that his whole demeanor changed. He broke free of my embrace and headed to the wardrobe to retrieve a robe to layer over his pyjamas.

"What's the matter? You're not going in to work today are you?…Because if you are, I think it is much to soon for you to…"

"No, no. It's nothing like that. I just had better get downstairs and speak with Yuki about you're accommodations. She will be here shortly you know." Loyalty to his housekeeper, and uneasiness with the thought of putting her out of a job is the driving reason for our decision to stay at his house as opposed to my flat. That, and the fact that she really is a much better cook.

He stopped short of exiting the room and glanced back, smile returning. "I just thought of something…at that pig roast that we're not going to have, could we not have cauliflower either?…I loathe cauliflower." He winked and closed the bedroom door.

**11:35am **It was inevitable that Mum would ring me at work, as I've been dodging her calls elsewhere. There's really no other way than to come right out with it and tell her that Mark and I are back together and living together in his flat in Holland Park. Despite her own obvious past indiscretions, it seems that I am expected to be more virtuous. Right. Thankfully, the conversation was brief and I simply explained to her that Mark and I are happy living together and she's welcome to either accept it or not, but her non-approval would change nothing. I hated to be so abrasive, but I've got to do what's best for me…and for Mark. When I explained about the cancer and all that he had been through with and without me, Mum surprised me by being quite supportive and even suggesting that I _should_ be with him. She ended by saying that she was going to phone him straight away and offer her best wishes. Wonder if I should warn him first.

Heard a throat clearing and looked up to find Daniel casually leaned against the door opening with a polystyrene cup full of steaming coffee in his hand. Damn. "Be sure and give your mum my love next time you speak with her, will you."

"Uh-huh sure." My parents have two entirely different views of Daniel Cleaver. Dad sees right through his phony compliments and half-wit excuses, banning me from even uttering Daniel's name in his presence. Whereas Mum…well Mum questions what _I_ must have done wrong to drive him into the arms of other women, and completely disregards the fact that he had left me to fend for myself in the Bangkok airport. Now I'm not saying that Mum doesn't want what's best for me, but she is definitely a sucker for a posh voice delivering an insincere apology. (Guess I know whom to thank for that trait.)

Perhaps I should have phoned Mark after all and told him to grovel.

"So Bridge, I was thinking, maybe we could get some lunch and you can tell me all about your vicious vole attack," Daniel suggested, inviting himself in and parking his rear on the edge of my desk. "Or maybe I could pop round for supper tonight. Surely Darcy won't mind."

"Absolutely not. I have important errands to run and then I'm going straight home to...Wait a minute! How did you know that Mark and I are back together?!"

"The same way I knew that you were talking to your mother just now. You should never put your back to the door while on the phone. You never know who might be listening."

Have really got to see about getting an office space with a door.

**2:15pm **Met Jude and Shazzer for a quick bite before popping into a few shops. Have explained to them my latest dilemma with Mark and how he completely ignores me in bed. In fact, when he first invited me to live with him, he wanted me to take the bedroom down the hall from his. With that I simply informed him that if I wanted a roommate that I'd have asked Shazzer to move in with me again. "It's as if he's afraid of me or something. You should see the pyjamas that he wears to bed. He's practically wearing a snowsuit," I explained. "I've already tried to tell him that I understand what he's going through, and that all I want is to be near him, but he's being stubborn. If I try to spoon him, he moves away. If I rest my head against him, he rolls over. What am I doing wrong?"

"Ah, he has fear of intimacy," Shaz announced confidently. They leaned into each other and began to confer.

"Not completely. I mean, he does kiss me and tell me that he loves me…oh, and rubs my feet. That's intimate, right?" They weren't listening.

"Ok Bridge, here's what you need to do…I read this a few weeks ago in _What Your Man Really Wants_" Shaz finally said seriously as if about to divulge some important national trade secret . "Ambush him!" they announced in unison and then continued to explain.

I sat quietly for a moment letting the advice sink in. "Are you sure that's the right approach for, you know, Mark's situation?"

"He is a man, isn't he?" Right.

**6:15pm **Arrived home to find Mark asleep on the sitting room sofa. I sat next to him, but he didn't stir until I placed my hand against his chest. We exchanged whispered greetings. "How are you feeling?"

"Just a little tired. The pain is subsiding finally." He smiled groggily. "Wait, what are you doing here?" he asked, glancing at the wall clock. "Are you not well?"

"I just missed you is all…so I took the rest of the afternoon off. You don't mind, do you?" If anything good came from yesterday's vole attack, it was an excuse to get out of work. I simply told Richard that my face was hurting, to which he had a smart arse comment that I will not mention. "I just feel so bad that I'm not here for you."

"I know you'd be here if you could, Darling," he continued to speak softly. Then he took my hand from his chest and brought it to his lips. "Yuki was here, and my family is in town today as well, so they came round. I don't really need anything anyhow. You know how I don't like a big fuss." There was a silent pause. "Your mother rang."

"I had a feeling she would…Sorry."

"She was fine. Actually she was quite concerned. Obviously you've told her everything."

"I hope that was alright." I didn't have the heart to tell him that I had inadvertently told Daniel Cleaver as well. He already seemed depressed enough.

"Of course." I kicked off my shoes and nestled against his warmth on the cold leather sofa, my head resting against his shoulder. There was another long silent pause. "Thank you."

"For what?" Lifted my head to look into his expressive eyes. They told the story of months of regret, guilt, and sadness.

"For loving me in spite of everything," he whispered in a melancholic tone. "I only wish that I could make things the way they were…to make _me_ the way I was."

"Don't talk like that Mark." I caressed his cheek and ran my thumb across his slightly parted lips. He welcomed the touch and within seconds I had crawled on top of him and we were snogging passionately. He wanted me as much as I wanted him…I just knew it. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard after all. Nevertheless, his physical side effects were nothing compared to the emotional pain he was having to endure.

Broke free and sat up, now straddling his midsection, and began to slowly strip away my top to reveal what Jude and Sharon refer to as my secret weapons, those which no man can resist…except for perhaps Tom or similar. "What are you doing?" He shifted nervously. His chest heaving. "Bridget, I can't! I thought you understood."

"I do understand Sweetheart. I just thought that, well, maybe you'd like to, you know, touch me."

He was eyeing my naked breasts as if they were two brimming bags of sweets, but when he spoke his words were strained and tortured. "I'm not the man I used to be."

"Yes you are." The buttons of his shirt fell away easily. "You're my man," I whispered, into his ear, tickling my nose against his sideburn. "…and I won't do anything you're not ready for…I promise." Then I planted a soft kiss against the area of his chest where his heart beats strongest. A tear formed in the corner of his eye as he stroked his fingers softly against the outside of my breast and then brought his lips slowly to one and then the other. I moaned softly as his mouth continued to explore what was to have been our baby's first source of nourishment. He smiled and put his hands against my bare back pulling me further to him. Our mouths sought the other aggressively and I could feel myself losing the control that I had promised to keep…With his hands still moving against my skin, reacquainting and remembering, instinctively I reached for his manhood to which there had been no response. Before I could really understand what was happening he pushed me away.

"I knew you wouldn't understand!" he shouted. "This is why I wanted to sleep apart until…" I screamed. Not because Mark was yelling at me but because at that precise moment from the entryway came a sound and three figures entered the room toting carrier bags. Found myself eye to eye with Mark's mother, father, and brother. I felt like a cheap whore who had just been caught red-handed by the queen defiling one of her young grandsons.

"Oh my! Excuse us!!!" Mrs. Darcy exclaimed in flustered horror. "We thought you were alone!" Admiral Darcy and Peter both turned beetroot red and turned away. But if you ask me, Peter didn't turn away quickly enough. Not that I had much time to notice though. As quickly as I could dismount Mark, I grabbed my top from the floor and disappeared from the room.

"Father…Mother…I wasn't expecting you back so soon," I heard Mark say as I scurried up the stairs.

----

I shouldn't have done it! Why did I do it??!! When Jude and Shazzer suggested it, I knew it was the wrong thing to do, and I did it anyway. Why? Why? Why? Am an impulsive idiot. That's why! And now, not only have I made Mark angry, but I've embarrassed his family and myself…Why are they here anyway?

Pulled out my suitcases and carryalls and proceeded to stuff my belongings into them haphazardly, v. much a symbol of my entire life. Am a chaotic mess! With bags packed, as quietly as possible I trudged them into the guest suite at the opposite end of the corridor. Could hear faint conversations coming from downstairs as I passed in and out of the two rooms dragging my stuff. Should have done this in the first place as Mark had asked.

Once everything was moved I parked myself at the top of the stairs, out of plain view, but close enough to listen to the horrible things that Mark and his family must be saying about me…not that I didn't deserve it.

I was shocked by what I heard. They weren't talking about today's incident at all, at least not by the time I had started eavesdropping, but rather about children. Mark's children to be exact. Not current children of course, but children that he could have…in the future to carry on the Darcy name. Children he _definitely _could have in the future! They all knew about this. 'When are you going to tell Bridget?' I heard Peter ask. But then there was no response…none that I could hear anyway. There were muffled shuffling sounds as if carrier bags were being unpacked and by the time the shuffling had stopped, so had the conversation. Admiral Darcy was mumbling something about documents but I could barely hear so I gave up trying and retreated to the bedroom.

**6:55pm** Why hadn't he told me that he had frozen sperm before all of the treatment began? I know why! He doesn't want me to be a part of it. That must be it. But that doesn't explain why he accepted my marriage proposal. Ahhhh!!!

**7:20pm** "Oh Bridget! You didn't!!!!" Magda screeched into the phone. "How could you take advice like that, and why on earth are you being so selfish?"

"Selfish??"

"Yes, selfish! How do you think he must feel?…He's not going to get better overnight."

"I wanted him to know that he still turns me on. I wasn't expecting anything. Really. I just got carried away." There was silence on the other end and I wondered if maybe Nicholas hadn't fallen into the potty and she'd gone off to save him.

"Bridge listen to me," she was calmer now. "I don't want you to get upset, but I really think that you and Mark need professional help."

She went on to tell me about how she and Jeremy had been able to work through some of their problems of the last year and essentially save their marriage by speaking with an unbiased third party. "I really don't think he'll want to go, Magda. He's such a private and prideful man."

"Trust me, I know…I know," she remarked, speaking from experience. "But if you want to get past all of the foolish miscommunication you'll find a way to convince him." There was a long pause. "You owe it to both of you."

There was little point in telling her about what I had overheard downstairs. Perhaps she already knew anyhow.

"Thanks Magda. You're a good friend," I blubbered, wiping away an escaped tear.

I sat at the foot of the bed in silence, just trying to take it all in…my perpetual inclination to bugger things up…Mark's secrets…and both of our unwillingness to acknowledge the jumbo sized elephant in the room that begs the answer of how on earth we are going to meld our two distinctly different worlds into one. Magda was right. If Mark and I are to go on, we have to learn to talk to each other. Dumped my purse out onto the bed and began sifting through the waded chewing gum wrappers, loose change, and assorted old receipts. I knew just who to call.

**10:30pm** "Bridget!! Bridget!!! Where are you?!" Mark called frantically from the corridor. I crawled off the bed and hurried out to the landing.

"I'm right here Mark," I responded with as much detachment as possible, fearing what he was going to say next…or what I might say next.

"Oh thank goodness!" He rushed to my side and reached his arms around me. "I thought you had left me!" His hands were ever so slightly trembling. "Please forgive me for shouting at you." Not the reaction I was expecting at all.

"I've told you before. I'm not going anywhere." Closed my eyes and clung to him as if I was never going to let go.

----

We laid together on the massive guest bed that was to be my refuge for the time being, he resting his head against my right breast, silently watching as I discussed the trials and tribulations of the dating world. My big break had gone well and I wasn't even in the mood to feel excited about it anymore.

"That was wonderful Darling," he said in a rather despondent voice after the 30-minute report had concluded. "You are wonderful." He reached up and touched my hair, twirling a strand between his fingers.

"Thank you Sweetheart." With that he replaced his head against my breast, and ran his hand over the slight protrusion of my belly. "Mark, are you still afraid?" I asked, running my fingers over his soft mussed curls.

He didn't answer right away. "Yes," he finally whispered without looking up, but continuing to gently stroke his thumb against my waist. A sigh from deep within me rippled his contentment and he lifted his head again to meet my eyes.

"Is something the matter?" he questioned. I sighed again, fearing his reaction.

"Mark, I think maybe we need help."


	27. Chapter 27 Classic Case

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXVII

Classic Case

**Monday March 18**

_Weight: 9st 9; Couples therapy sessions: 1; Couples present: 0 (unless nauseatingly lovey-dovey couple before self is counted) _

Note to self: Make appointment for manicure as have bloody well chewed off all fingernails on right hand. Why am I here? I shouldn't be here without…

"Miss Jones?" the perky young receptionist called out. "Dr. Hillbaum will be with you in just one moment." Glanced at the wall clock. Was panic-stricken. Nails on left hand in serious jeopardy. Shot a cruel stare at wall clock again in effort to stop time from passing. A man and woman about my age were exiting the inner office smiling jubilantly at one another, holding hands. A pang of envy seized my chest. Bloody Mark! He wasn't coming…already 15 minutes late. Mark Darcy is punctual to a fault! He wasn't coming! Was just going to quietly excuse self when the receptionist spoke again. "Miss Jones, you may go in now."

The room was cozy and inviting, not at all how I'd always imagined the inside of a doctor's office to be. Oversized chenille pillows lined a casual-looking Wedgwood blue sofa to one side of the room with a coordinating wingback chair to its left. Opposite of the seating area was a hulking wooden desk adorned with potted ivy and blue silk cornflowers. A rather pungent scent of "old lady" and lavender wafted throughout the room prompting my nose to twitch. Have never much cared for lavender. Maybe is a sign that I really shouldn't have been there at all. Was just about to turn back and leave when a voice came from the far end of the room near a floor to ceiling window, halting me in my tracks. "Miss Jones…" She came toward me with that pleasant, motherly face that had greeted me once before. "I'm sorry that I've kept you waiting. I was so glad to hear that you had called for an appointment. Won't you please sit down."

"Actually, you see my, uh, fiancé Mark wasn't able to come. Maybe today isn't such a good day to, uh, do…_this_."

"Oh that's such a pity that Mr. Darcy has been detained. I do hope he is well."

"Um, yes ma'am, he's fine. He's working on a very important case actually. He's a human rights barrister, you see, and…well, he's recently returned to work after…um…" Was doing a horrid job trying to explain Mark's absence. "He wanted to be here, really, but he's just been so busy. You know how those lawyers are, always attempting to rid the world of injustice." I chuckled nervously. "He sends his regrets I assure you."

"Oh yes, I'm very familiar with Mr. Darcy's work. Brilliant lawyer, he is." She smiled and then lowered her voice a bit, made uncomfortable eye contact, cupped her wrinkly, liver-spotted hand upon my knee, and spoke slowly as if perhaps I was not the sharpest tool in the shed and might not fully comprehend what she was saying. "We could still chat if you like. Perhaps your fiancé could join us for the next session." Next session??!! I smiled awkwardly. "Would you like some tea, Bridget? May I call you Bridget?" Shook my head meekly.

Dr. Hillbaum buzzed into the other room. Within moments the same receptionist, Gloria was her name, had entered with a lovely tea service and placed it on the table near the sofa. "I'm so pleased that you were able to keep your appointment. After the third cancellation in a week I had become concerned." Without responding, I downed the entire cup of tea hoping the warmth would help me relax. Then I poured another. As I watched her over the rim of my teacup, she made notes on a pad. What was she writing? I hadn't said anything. Had been there nearly 10 minutes and already my every movement was being scrutinized. Then she set the pad and biro aside, glaring over at me with her glasses sliding down her bony nose. "Bridget, if I may be so forthright as to ask, Mr. Darcy has not been receptive to the idea of counseling, has he?"

My cheeks were burning. Was completely embarrassed. How could Mark do this to me, and without so much as a phone call to say that he wasn't coming?!?! There was no important meeting. He just didn't want to come. He's in total denial that there's even a problem. The room felt as if it was imploding upon me…and spinning. Yes, spinning and imploding. V. bad.

"Bridget?? Are you unwell? Would you like a glass of water?" She poured a glass from the same tray as the tea and handed it to me. "Dear, I assure you that it's not at all uncommon for one or both parties to be reluctant to counseling."

"It isn't?" I felt some relief and a little less like a freak.

"No, and the fact that you felt that you needed to be here in no way indicates that your relationship with Mr. Darcy is unhealthy or doomed for failure. It just means that…"

"It's unhealthy alright!!" Was suddenly seized by my own recollections of temporarily suppressed anger, and I shot up and began to pace about the room.

Dr. Hillbaum said nothing at first and allowed me to wear tracks in her area rug. "Would you like to come back to the sofa and talk about what's on your mind, Dear, or are you more comfortable walking?"

"Oh, I'm sorry should I be lying down or something?" I moved toward the sofa feeling foolish, as if I had broken the cardinal rule of therapy.

"Only if you like." She smirked as she said it. Reclaimed my position on the sofa and clutched a pillow into my chest, squeezing it between my fingers. "Now then…why don't you tell me what's got you so upset right now."

"It's Mark!!! He's the problem!!!" The floodgates had opened and before I could stop myself I had told her perhaps more than I should have. "He's such an emotional withholder! I mean I know he loves me, but he can't…No! He _won't_ talk to me about what he's really thinking! He doesn't talk about _anything_ that's bothering him! He's so damned proud!! For Christ's sake, he's even got lion statues on either side of his front door. You know, it's as if he doesn't trust me…I've never done anything to make him not trust me." Dr. Hillbaum scribbled something quickly.

"I see. Bridget, do you think that…"

"Oh! And he keeps secrets. _Big_ secrets. The biggest of all, that he was sick!…Very sick! He's got prostate cancer, you see. Can you believe that? I won't even go into how long it took me to find that out." Was on my feet pacing again, the same pillow still firmly within my grasp.

"Has he been seeking…"

"Honestly Doctor, the man has trust _and_ avoidance issues!! Like now! Where the hell is he?" Made a quick visual search of the room for effect.

"Your fiancé does appear to be something of an enigma, Bridget," she remarked. "Very much like his fictional namesake, would you say?" I smiled inwardly at the mental image of devastatingly handsome and proud, yet tragically misunderstood Mr. Darcy, as played by Colin Firth, diving into the lake.

"Hmmm"

"Pardon?" Opened my eyes to find Dr. Hillbaum jotting something on her pad again.

"Oh, sorry." Shook away the thought. "Maybe a little…but I am certainly no Lizzy Bennett I can assure you." I sniggered at the thought. Really, why had she brought that up?

She smiled a tight-lipped little grin and ducked her head again to make a note. Frankly, was becoming more and more nervous as I watched the pages on her pad turn.

"You know Dr. Hillbaum," I sat again and leaned into her as if to speak more candidly. "May I be frank?" She nodded affirmatively. "What I really think is Mark's problem is that he's an alien."

She tilted her head in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"What I mean is that he's a Martian…you know, Venus and Mars." She still seemed confused. "Men are from Mars, Women are…"

"Oh, yes, of course. Please, explain how you see Mark as a Martian?"

"My best friends Shazzer and Jude actually were the first to realize it. You see, when Mark feels threatened or knows he's done something wrong he retreats into isolation instead of facing the problem head on. V. unhealthy, wouldn't you say?"

"Since you seem to be so well versed in Dr. Gray's research, I assume you are familiar with the rubber band theory?"

"Oh yes." Was pleased with self and felt that was on somewhat equal footing with Dr. Hillbaum due to extensive self-help education. "So what you're saying is that it's very likely that he will bound back and that everything will be lovely again after he's mentally sorted everything on his own terms."

"Perhaps Bridget, yes, but there's more that…"

"I'm so glad that we've come to this same conclusion about Mark's, you know,…_issues_."

Glimpsed her stealing a look at her watch just before she rose from the wingback chair and headed for her desk with the notes that she had taken. The falsely content expression on her face made me worry that I'd perhaps painted too harsh a picture of Mark.

"Um doctor…Please don't get me wrong…There are many things that I love about Mark with all my heart…He's intelligent and caring, and…oh God, does he have a world-class bum. The rest…, if you know what I mean, is pretty magnificent as well I assure you. Very height proportionate…like one of those nude Greek statues in a museum." Blushed at the lovely thought. Dr. Hillbaum cleared her throat and took a sip of something that was in a mug on her desk. "And before he got sick, the sex was brilliant. He is something of a god in that regard!!!! It's just that, well," Tried to choose my words carefully. "we've not been able to communicate as we should and due to him being impotent and all, we haven't had a decent shag in months...or any shag for that matter since just before New Year."

"I see. Well…" Her words trailed off as she made a few more notes. "I've listened and you've made many valid points, now let me share with you, Dear, what I think needs to happen next, and hopefully Mr. Darcy, as I stated before, will be able to join us next time. Let me begin by saying…"

---

It seems that maybe Dr. Hillbaum and I were not on the same page about as many things as I had begun to believe and was feeling quite uncomfortable as I listened to her assessment.

After a while, the discomfort was unbearable. "I really should be going. You see, well, I was bitten by a wild animal a few weeks ago and so I've got to get a shot." Actually I'd gone yesterday, but it was the only excuse I could think of to get the hell out of there.

"Oh yes, I saw that segment. That must have been quite painful." I winced, still embarrassed that that particular part of the interview was not edited out. Thankfully the bite marks on my face could now be concealed with make-up, but have yet to go a full day without someone commenting, some sympathetic, some snide and just downright rude about my latest cock up. It wasn't even my fault really, yet somehow it was edited to seem as if I had stuck my hand into the log, pulled the vole out by the throat and begged it to pounce on my face.

"I'm sorry about the pillow," I mumbled, handing her what once had been a lovely chenille cushion, but was now a deflated, unraveled mess.

"Think nothing of it Dear," she responded, handing me a slip of paper. Was it a bill for the damages? "I'd very much like to chat with you again. But in the meantime since I know that you enjoy reading, might I suggest these book titles."

Read the list. _The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate_ and _The Seven Steps to Passionate Love- Why Men are Not From Mars and Women are Not From Venus_

Bugger.

**Tuesday March 19**

_Weight: 9st 10 (Yuki's cooking is v.v.g.); Peculiar wedding gifts returned: 1_

**6:15pm Mark's (our) house after work** "What the hell is that?" Jude gasped, pointing at the rotund statuette perched center stage upon the guest bedroom mantle.

"That, for your information," I began, dropping the box of odds and ends from my flat onto the bed and diverting my attention to where Shaz and Jude both stood, mesmerized by the odd sculpture, "is a Hawaiian fertility opu. Mum brought it back from their honeymoon. It was supposed to have been an early wedding present. Well, actually, I suppose it still is. What do you think?"

"I think it's profoundly frightening," Jude remarked. Shaz reached to touch it.

"Stop!!!" She lurched her hand back. "Only Mark and I can rub it." Her eyes began to roll around in her head.

"Bridge, are you still planning to get pregnant again as soon as Mark is…uh…up for it?" They both giggled at Shaz's intentional bad pun.

"I had planned to, but now…" Began to unpack another box and unload its contents into a nearby cupboard.

"But what?" Shaz queried. "What has he done this time?!!"

"Oh, nothing really. Um, I just realized that it would be a bit foolish to start our marriage with a baby." Did not especially want to confide that I had been to see a therapist, and that Mark didn't feel it necessary to show up. I mean it's not exactly normal for couples to go to therapy _before_ they get married, now is it? Mark apologized profusely, of course, whether he meant it or not by saying he was tied up in meetings and didn't have time to even call. The excuse was always the same, but this time I had gone without him.

"That's not what you were going to say. The cancer hasn't spread, has it?" Jude seemed genuinely concerned and stretched her arm across my shoulders.

"No, no…nothing like that." Collapsed back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. The girls followed suit by stretching lengthwise across the massive bed. Began to spill the whole story of how Mark had stood me up and made me feel foolish in front of Dr. Hillbaum.

"Men never want to admit when there's a problem and that they just might be the cause of it! Trust me Bridge, make him change now before it's too late!" Sometimes I have to wonder if Jude truly pays attention to what she's reading in those relationship books. Actually, have to wonder if _I_ pay close enough attention. Then she launched into a tirade about Vile Richard.

"Thanks Jude. V. helpful." Right. At time of premarital crisis is not particularly helpful to listen to how she threatens to divorce Richard every time he leaves the toilet seat up or doesn't put the cap back on the toothpaste as a sign that he doesn't respect her. Maybe Richard is not so much _vile_ as he is _poor_.

Shaz surprised me by actually sticking up for Mark. "Give him a fucking break, Bridge!" she announced emphatically. "He's going through a lot of changes right now."

Funny. That's just what the therapist said…more or less.

**Thursday March 21**

_Weight: 9st 11(Ugh!); Post-coital cuddling sessions: 0 (v. bad)_

**7:45am** Mark quite surprised me last night. We were just quietly lounging on the sofa together watching telly when he reached over for my hand and placed it on top of him. This was the first time in so very long that he'd wanted me to touch him…the way I used to, before… When I had subconsciously done it weeks ago, he pulled away angrily. But now he wanted it. He craved it. Not the sort of thoughts that typically come to mind while watching Newsnight. Desperate Housewives or Bonkers maybe, but not the news. For once, the state of the world was of little or no concern to him and I only hoped that he'd not caught me secretly watching Sex Inspectors the night before. The last thing that I wanted to do was pressure him, about that anyway. It's been so bloody hard though. Just being near him and having his hand brush innocently against mine over the breakfast table as we'd both reach for the same piece of toast was enough to make my whole body tingle with desire…desire that craved release from the tension of our situation and the unsatisfied sexual frustration. It was all becoming just too much. I wanted to ring up the couple that had arranged to sublet my flat and tell them that the deal was off. I needed to go home.

But, hope was on the horizon…

"I'm ready to try," he uttered quietly, glancing only briefly into my eyes before returning his stare to some far away place. When I stroked the flaccid place where he had moved my hand gently with my thumb he closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Really?" Perhaps I questioned with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"I can't promise anything, my darling." His eyes were open again and focused solemnly on my hand.

With my free hand I touched the side of his face, drawing his gaze toward me. "And I promised to be patient, didn't I?" He rested his forehead against mine and then pressed his lips softly to my lips. From there things began to progress naturally, our physical chemistry never undeniable.

And when he unexpectedly broke away and rose to his feet, offering his hand graciously for me to follow, I thought I might melt.

Wish I had positioned the opu on Mark's bedroom mantle instead of my own.

----

Mark rolled onto his side away from me, pulling the duvet over himself. Didn't know what to say really. Nothing like that had ever happened before. Was confounded. How could something that had begun with such intense mutual amourosity go so dreadfully wrong? Must remind self that it is not because he doesn't love me or subconsciously doesn't want to be with me. Is because he is in recovery. I tried to console him. "It's alright Sweetheart. You just need more time is all." Ran my hand over the smooth softness of his bare shoulder prompting him to pull away even further. He said nothing as I searched for more words. "Would you like for me to go back to my room?"

"Do whatever you like." He sniffled softly. Whatever sadness and disappointment I was feeling was nothing in comparison to the devastation in his voice.

"I'd like to stay…if that's alright"

"Why?"

Why?? "Because you…" Must remember to follow advice of Dr. Hillbaum and not pity him or play into his fears of permanent incapability. "I mean _I_ get lonely in that big bed all by myself." He said nothing. "So let's just go to sleep, okay?" He never did answer, and I felt more than a little precarious lying naked next to his naked body. The night seemed endless as I watched him rise from the bed several times during the night and disappear into the loo. The doctors had warned that incontinence was another, yet hopefully temporary, side effect of the treatment. I wanted more than anything to take on some of his burden. "Mark…please don't shut me out." I could feel his eyes on me for a few seconds in the barely moonlit room, but still he said nothing.

When I awoke this morning, he was gone without even so little as a note.

**Friday March 22**

_Weight: 9st 11; Lunch date offers: 2; Unforgivable insults leading to disaster: 1; Current jobs: 0_

**7:30pm** **Sit Up Britain office** When Mark appeared in the entryway of my cubie, I thought I was imagining it. He had never come into my building. Sometimes he'd call and ask me to meet him somewhere, or he'd meet me outside near the newspaper kiosk, but never had he come all the way up to the third floor. Was surprised that he even knew where to find me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked perhaps a bit too rudely.

"I…uh, was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd see if you were free for lunch." He seemed nervous, scanning the tops of the sea of cubicles

"I don't know Mark. I have quite a lot of work to do." Clicked a few keys on the computer not really paying attention to what I was doing, trying to seem busy. Just then an inner-office message popped onto the screen. _He'll never make you happy the way I do. Lose the stiff and meet me for lunch. DC _Why after two years am I still playing these games with the exact two men? Well, actually Daniel is the one playing games, refusing to accept defeat. I've completely moved on. I feel nothing for him. I pity him really. And Mark…Mark on the other hand, makes me feel everything…contentment, joy, fear, sadness, and anger. Maybe a bit too much so. But even the worst feelings cannot overshadow how deeply I adore him. I responded to Daniel's message with a resounding _Fuck off!_

"I was embarrassed." He ran his hand through his neatly combed and blow-dried hair and exhaled deeply. "That's why I left without saying anything."

"And last night?" He'd barely strung two words together in my presence all day and when he did it was only to inform me that he was expecting an important phone call and would be working late into the evening on a case. He'd locked himself away in his office and told Yuki that he'd take his dinner in there…alone.

"I didn't know what to say."

"Mark, if I'm going to be your wife, you have to be able to talk to me." Finally I looked at him soberly. "If you can't…" Just then came an interruption from the intercom. Was Roger Tyson, overzealous copy editor, requesting…rather, demanding that I deliver a research file to him ASAP. Left Mark standing there with my unfinished statement still dangling in the air.

Passed by Daniel's glass office enclosure without really looking in, but could feel his eyes upon me even as I walked away.

When I returned 10 minutes later Mark was no longer standing in the doorway but was seated at my desk. A drawer was open and he was quietly looking at something intently. His head popped up when he heard me enter. "I'm sorry…I got a call and needed something to write with." He seemed to still be distracted by what was in his hand even as he spoke. "What's this?" Came over to him to get a better view of what he was staring at. Upon recognition, I exhaled heavily. Had forgotten that I'd shoved it into my desk rather than the rubbish bin. Was the page from the pregnancy book that I'd once ripped out and tacked to the wall…the one resembling cucumber slices but was actually a diagram of embryonic cells. "What is this?" he repeated, looking up at me rather pitifully, as if he already had a good idea about what it was.

Didn't answer right away, but stared at the paper. Pain that I thought was behind me came rushing back. "It's a baby," I whispered sadly. Mark pulled me down onto his knee and stretched his arms around me. I burrowed my face into his warm, comforting neck. He said nothing but held me a little tighter. Lifted my head after a few moments, my jaw quivering. "Our baby would have been so beautiful, Mark." And then the tears really began to flow.

"A beautiful gift," Mark consoled, trying to blink back his own tears. He touched his forehead against mine and kissed my tears softly. It seemed an appropriate time to ask him about what I had overheard him talking about with his parents...about the frozen sperm. In the days since then, I'd thought of it often.

I didn't have the chance.

Daniel popped his head in. Should have known that he wouldn't have the good sense to stay away. "Ah, got her crying again I see. Well done." Neither of us acknowledged Daniel's barb. By then Mark and I were on our feet again and he was helping me into my coat. Daniel kept on. "So what's up Darce? Word round town is nothing at all."

"Daniel Cleaver shut up!!" I snapped, still sniffling. Turning to Mark and smoothing his suit jacket lapel, "Let's go Sweetheart." So far Mark had done well to ignore Daniel. His sad and stressed expression made me want to wring Daniel's neck with my bare hands.

"Oh and you know what, mate?" Daniel spoke again. This time louder as Mark and I moved toward the lift. "I'll bet the reason Bridget lost her baby is because it found out who its father was and realized death was a better alternative." All office ambient noise ceased. Stunned faces began popping up over tops of cubicles. Daniel had crossed a line, even for his standards, with quite possibly the cruelest thing he could have said, and I despised him for it!

Mark, resembling a red (almost purple) raging Barcelona bull, spun round on his heels to face Daniel, the veins in his neck and temples hideously bulging. Would not have been at all surprised to see him scratching his foot on the floor with smoke streaming from his flared nostrils.

"Mark! No!!!" I screeched upon deaf ears. Mark charged Daniel so forcefully that they both tumbled head over feet backward, knocking violently into the glass desk and displacing several chairs in their path. What had seemingly become almost customary for the two of them to scuffle seemed all the more frighteningly real when I heard Mark threaten to kill Daniel if he didn't stay away from him and me.

Tom and Alex from script consulting, and some other chap I'd never seen before pulled the two apart. Mark was bleeding from his cheek and was clutching his hand with the other. Daniel was…who cares what Daniel was. He deserved any pain and suffering that Mark may have inflicted upon him if not more.

Richard Finch rumbled in behind two burly security officers. "Remove this man from the building!" he commanded, pointing at Mark. "And escort that woman out with him!" he added, replacing his glare onto me. "Bridget Jones…"

"Don't bother!!! I quit!" Mark and I exchanged commiserate looks before I returned my own steely glare to Richard and Daniel, who was holding his left arm strangely. "As far as I'm concerned the two of you deserve one another! You're both slimy, disrespectful bastards and to spend another day in your presence would undermine my intelligence!"

Reluctantly, Daniel decided against pressing charges, likely knowing that there was far more that Mark could hold over him for past deeds.

Once downstairs, security released Mark with a forceful shove into the car park. "Are you alright, Mark?" I asked while fussing over his bruised face with a tissue from my purse.

"I think my finger's been rebroken, but aside from that, yes. And you? I'm sorry about your job."

"You know, I think that was the best thing that could have possibly come from the whole mess."

He smiled proudly and reached his arm around me as we walked toward our cars. "So, do you think Dr. Hillbaum can fit us in this afternoon?"

"You are such a classic Martian, Mark Darcy, and I love you."

----

Note:

1. _The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate_ written by Gary Chapman

2. _The Seven Steps to Passionate Love- Why Men are Not From Mars and Women are Not From Venus _written by William Van Horn

My intention was not to discredit _Men Are From Mars, Woman Are From Venus_ by Dr. John Gray, just that other viewpoints are explored as well.


	28. Chapter 28 Anatomy of a Relationship

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXVIII

Anatomy of a Relationship

**Thursday March 28**

_Weight: 9st 10; Post-birthday party hangovers: 1_

"How's the job search going? I still can't believe you finally chucked Finch and Daniel!" Jude slurred, swirling the last little bit of drink round in the glass before tossing it down her throat with a dramatic whip of her neck. Simultaneously, Shaz motioned for another round…the 5th…or was it the 6th?

"Not bad. I've had a few really good interviews actually," I explained glumly. Bummed a ciggie from Shazzer and proceeded to light it.

"So what's the problem?"

"What I really want is a career where I can interview important people, you know, like Gerard Butler or Angelina Jolie or some fabulous programme reporting on exotic culture and posh fashion." Took a quick puff. "Do you like my new top? I popped over to the Bond Street shops yesterday after a Sky interview. I saw Emily Blunt wearing one just like it in Marie Claire." They bobbed their heads in unison. Shaz inspected the silky, blue sleeve fabric between her fingers and smiled approvingly. Thank goodness, because she was getting the exact top in red as soon as she opened her gifts, as well as my discarded copy of one of Dr. Hillbaum's suggested readings. Was glad that neither made an issue of how I was able to afford the obviously more expensive top, especially with self's current unemployed status. Truth is, Mark has been v. generous in that respect, but the last thing I want is for Shazzer and Jude to accuse me of being a kept woman. Am nothing if not independent. "Trouble is," I continued after taking another, longer drag. "So far I've only been considered for research jobs. I've already had a sodding research job!!!"

"What about your cyber-dating thing, and that stuff you did with Daniel in Thailand?"

"Everyone I've interviewed with so far has either said that they're going for a different look, or that I haven't got enough experience…and then they laugh." Lowered my chin momentarily and then back up again. "Tell me the truth, am I really that ridiculous?"

"Of course you're not, Bridge…you're brilliantly entertaining. Actually, you make television bearable. There are far too many uptight wankers on the news. I mean, who wants to see some middle-aged, stone-faced bore when we can see you ride a horse backward, fall headfirst into a hedge, dust yourself off, and finish your report as if nothing had happened?"

"You're just taking the piss out of me!"

"I'm not. Listen Bridge, you yourself said that Sit Up Britain's ratings had never been higher since you started doing those bits. I'd like to see David Attenborough do what you do!" Jude directed the burning embers of her cigarette toward me as she finished her speech. An ash fell into my chardonnay glass. "Oh sorry," she hiccupped.

"We need more wine over here!!!" Shazzer obnoxiously shouted over the loud shuffle of the small pub, encouraging a v. nasty look from the barman.

"You'll find something soon…It's only been five days," Jude consoled. "The important thing is that you are away from that bastard, Daniel Cleaver!…I still can't believe he said what you said he said to Mark. Poor Mark…How is he?"

"Mark is well. In fact, he…"

"He's just like a little child, Bridget!!!" Shaz interrupted.

"Who? Mark?"

"No..no...no. Daniel," Shaz replied, a step behind in the conversation. "If he doesn't get the toy he wants, the toy being you of course, he has a tantrum and tries to break everyone else's fucking toys so that no one is happy," Shazzer explained heatedly. "That's precisely why I despise children…the selfish, screwed up little monsters!" The table tipped slightly, sloshing our drinks about as Jude not so surreptitiously kicked Shazzer. "Oh, except for your children Bridget. Yours will be lovely I'm sure…not a fucked up one in the lot."

Right.

"Anyway, I'm just so thankful to be away from Sit Up Britain. I'm sick to death of Daniel Cleaver! I'll be perfectly happy to never see his smug face again! And I'm sick of Richard Finch and his perverted lynch mob as well! To Hell with the lot of them I say! It's time I moved on to bigger and better prospects!" Charged my glass into the air.

"I'll fucking drink to that! To bigger and better things!" Shazzer cheered, hoisting her own glass to toast as did Jude. We drained our glasses in seconds flat as if in a contest. Knew by that point things were getting a bit blurry, but actually thought I was having hallucinations. An absolutely gorgeous, angular-jawed man in manner of a Gap advert photo model, dressed in jeans and a tight black tee shirt swaggered up behind Shazzer. His straight, dark mane hung shabbily into his eyes and his chin was stubbly. He looked young…too young in fact, but then again, that's Shazzer's modus operandi. He was no Mark Darcy of course, but still pretty damn hot! He placed his hands around her waist, and proceeded to nibble her earlobe. A purr oozed from her throat.

Jude and I stared in stunned silence as the two of them began to speak rather vulgarly in hushed tones to one another. There was no doubt in our minds that two had already become acquainted intimately, but why had we heard nothing of it. Are we not her best friends, for Christ's sake?!

Shaz made the introductions before turning her attentions back to her new boyfriend. "So how does it feel to be 28 today?" he asked, looking down into her moony eyes.

Jude and I looked back at one another again with the same thought. 28???

Eddie bought us yet another round and what happened after that is a bit fuzzy actually.

That was last night. This morning…or perhaps afternoon, am not sure, Mark is not happy with me at all, and he keeps stalking round, throwing things to prove it…and I wish he'd stop because my head is bloody well pounding!

"Just what is your problem?! Stop making so much sodding noise!" Put my face down on the refreshing coolness of the steel countertop. Mark continued to bang plates and cups, each reverberation setting off continuous tiny explosions in my brain. Sadistic bastard!

"Coffee?" was the only thing he said, quite sternly. Moments later could smell the rich brew slowly awakening my otherwise depleted senses. Finally lifted my head to find self alone in the large kitchen but made no attempt to vacate my stool. Good Lord! What was I thinking getting so pissed last night? Am getting much too old for this. Maybe was also struck by a lorry on the way home. How did I even get home??? Don't recall self's head throbbing quite this much in past morning afters. Just then Mark reentered the room carrying the morning post and newspaper and dropped them onto the table with an exaggerated thud before looking scornfully in my direction. "Here are your car keys," he announced calmly, but then tossed them at me, narrowly missing my face as I struggled to even see clearly past my fingertips. "It would appear that whoever drove your car home left the keys in the post box. I suppose I should be thankful that you didn't drive yourself." He turned away and went about rooting through the stack of letters and adverts, discarding most back onto the table.

"Oh. That was probably Shazzer's new boyfriend, Eddie." Maybe. Hopefully. Smirked slightly, hazily recalling his god-awful karaoke rendition of Coldplay's "Yellow". "He joined us last night. Nice chap really. You'll like…"

"Bridget." He interrupted with icy calmness. "I don't want to hear it."

"Mark Darcy, I'll ask you again, What. Is. Your. Problem?!?!"

He leaned back against the counter across from me, his arms outstretched on either side to brace himself, the aluminium finger splint clattered against the counter obnoxiously. I winced at the sound. His steely glare pierced into my own presumably bloodshot eyes. "Bridget, have you any idea how embarrassed I was to receive a call from County Councilor Granger at 1:30 this morning to ask if I knew that my fiancé was dancing on table tops, shrieking like a banshee, and pouring bottles of drink down everyone's throats?!"

_Had I really done all that?!?!? Holy shit!!_

"Well what was _he_ doing there at 1:30 in the morning?! Hmm?"

"That's not the point. He wasn't there making a public arse of himself!"

"Mark! Don't be such a snob! It was my dearest friend's birthday and we were…celebrating. It was a one-off…not as if I do it everyday." Not anymore. Stumbled off of the stool and headed for the back stairs toward the bedrooms.

"Where are you going?!" he shouted after me.

"To lie down. I'm not feeling well." Gripped my head in one hand and readjusted my dressing gown with the other.

"I'm afraid you can't do that." His petulant attitude was wearing v. thin on my nerves.

Stopped in my tracks and turned to face him. Not hard to do, as he was closely trailing me down the corridor like a homeless puppy in want of attention. "And why not? Do you wish to scold me further? Perhaps bang a few more things around until my head explodes?!"

"No _Darling_," he began sarcastically. "We have an appointment with the therapist in an hour and a half so that we can talk about how _perfect_ we are for one another, or have you forgotten? Did you not find it at least the slightest bit odd that I'm not at work?"

"Shit!!! Is that today??"

**7:30pm Later. After appointment with Dr. Hillbaum. **Was a v. long, emotional two hours. Mark had agreed to come last week, but by the time the actual appointment was upon us, he quite obviously was uncomfortable with the entire situation and quite frankly was acting like a real twit…in the beginning.

He shook Dr. Hillbaum's hand, of course, and exchanged cordial greetings before huddling closely to the arm of the sofa while I sat on the opposite end. He was tapping his hand nervously against the other in his lap, looking around the room, and making only occasional eye contact. Those eyes. Those golden brown eyes, capable of conveying so many subtle variations of what he was feeling inside, and yet completely impaired when it came to verbalizing those very same feelings. In those brief moments when he spoke to or even just looked at her, I hoped that Dr. Hillbaum could see what I saw…the years of repressed emotion, the hurt, the fear… Stand in front of a room full of world dignitaries and defend a case he can do, but sit privately and talk about anything of a personal nature was an entirely different story. Would she be able to help us?

She offered us the prerequisite tea. I accepted. Mark politely declined.

"I must admit, this present scene bares resemblance to what I saw when I first unofficially met the two of you in the hospital lift. There were a lot of angry and hurt feelings there, would you agree?" Shook my head with hesitant affirmation while looking over at an unresponsive Mark. He was still angry about this morning I could tell, but unless he brought it up, I was perfectly content to hide the fact that my head was splitting and I was nauseated to near distraction. "Talk to me about what was happening at that time, will you?"

Was not pleased to have to rehash what had already been resolved between us.

"Mark and I were not together at the time…and as it turned out we were both hiding secrets." I stopped and glanced over at him to offer an opportunity to add something…anything. He sat silently staring at his trousers.

"And these secrets, have you since discussed them?"

"Humph!" Mark broke in. Dr. Hillbaum and I both looked at him expectantly.

"Are you clearing your throat, or do you have something to say?!" I asked offensively.

"That's _all_ we've talked about."

"I'm sorry that mourning the lose of our child and me caring about your health inconveniences you! I though couples were supposed to discuss things!" Then I turned to the therapist, "Do you see what I mean??" Mark shook his head defiantly and looked away, but said nothing more.

Her head shot up from her notes, "Bridget, you did not mention that you had been pregnant." She thoughtfully looked from me to Mark, and then back to me again. "I'm sorry." She shifted in her seat. "Do either of you wish to talk about it?" We both sat solemnly, neither of us saying a word. Silent, uncomfortable moments passed between the three of us before the doctor spoke again. "Let us talk then about today…"

She wanted to know why we had brought so much hostility, and honestly I didn't really know what to tell her. Mark had completely overreacted to my night out with the girls and I told her so.

"You really have no idea, do you?" Mark interjected crossly. He was glaring at me.

Dr. Hillbaum encouraged him to continue. "Go ahead. Tell her why you are angry."

Was shocked at the revelation, but at least now I understood where the bump on my head had come from. "An acquaintance rang to tell me that Bridget had been behaving foolishly in the pub last night with her friends, and so I asked him to see to it that she got into a taxi and was sent home."

"If you were so fucking concerned about me, then why didn't you come get me yourself?!?!" I exploded. "Or were you too ashamed to be seen _rescuing_ me?!"

"I don't know that ashamed is the word I'd have used, but…yes." Was startled by his bluntness.

"You Mark Darcy are an arrogant bastard!!!!" Angry tears were rolling down my cheeks and I felt so ill that I knew that if I didn't get out of there right then and there, was going to embarrass myself further. Left Mark alone with Dr. Hillbaum and soon found self crumpled on the floor of the lavender-scented loo, acquainting myself with the inside of the toilet bowl. Must admit though that I'd felt much better afterward.

Upon reentering the office Mark jumped to his feet. "How are you?" His mood had softened and he seemed genuinely concerned and a bit frightened. "I was beginning to think that you had left." He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. Wasn't ready to forgive him just yet. "Would you like for me to take you home, Darling?"

Dr. Hillbaum appeared quite obviously shocked by the way he had spoken to me. "Mark," he turned his attention back to her as he reclaimed his seat, this time closer to me. "I want you to share with Bridget what you told me while she was out of the room. And when you speak to her, I'd like for you to look her in the eye. And Bridget," she looked at me. "I'd like for you to listen without reacting until he's finished."

Oh God! While I was away, she'd worked some sort of psychological voodoo on him. He seemed hesitant and uncomfortable. His eyes blinked rapidly as if trying to send me a secret Morse code message. "Bridget, I'm sorry that I didn't come for you last night, but the reason I was angry this morning is because of what happened after you got home." He stopped and bowed his head.

"Mark, please continue," Dr. Hillbaum encouraged.

"When you got home…"

"Look at Bridget." Was becoming angry again, not at Mark, but with the doctor for being so persistent with him as if he were a child.

His eyes met mine. "When you got home, you came to my room waving a statue and slurring something about sex and wanting to get pregnant. You commanded me to rub it and then you practically attacked me." As I listened, my eyes filled with blinding tears and finally I covered them with my hand. How could I have done such a thing to him? "I didn't mean to hurt you…"

"Hurt _me_?"

"Let him finish, Bridget."

"I honestly didn't think I had pushed you that hard." He bit his lower lip and broke eye contact briefly. "I only wanted you to stop…I didn't mean to make you fall off the bed and hit the floor the way you did." When it finally came time for me to speak I didn't know what to say. Couldn't believe what he had said. I didn't remember any of it! Had I actually forced myself on my sweet, erectile dysfunctioned fiancé?! Dr. Hillbaum passed me a tissue. "I want more than anything to have children with you. You have to believe that…God knows I do, but right now…It seems you still don't realize that."

"Excuse me??" Both Mark and Dr. Hillbaum seemed caught off guard by my sudden change in mood. "I don't realize that?!" I repeated angrily. "Trust me! I _realize_ that you have cancer! I _realize_ that we were both scared shitless! I _realize_ that we haven't had sex in months! I _realize_ that you are likely even more frustrated than I am! But do _YOU_ realize that I know about the frozen sperm?!?" He gasped as if I'd slapped him. "If you want to have children with me so badly, then why would you keep something like that from me?!" Dr. Hillbaum remained silent.

"I…"

"The truth Mark." He looked to Dr. Hillbaum. "I asked the question. Look me in the eye and tell me," I added, taking my cues from the doctor.

"Honestly…"

"That would be nice."

"I didn't want to tell you, and get your…our hopes up until…" He breathed heavily.

"Yes? Until? Until you've exhausted all other possibilities and realized that you could do no better than me? Until you were sure that your father wouldn't write you out of the will for marrying me? Until…"

"Until I was sure that I wasn't going to die, Bridget!" he shouted over my rant. "Until I am sure that I'm not going to die from bloody prostate cancer," he repeated with a more even tone. I was silenced. Why had that never occurred to me? Instead I assume the worst…as usual. Then I realized the gravity of what he had confessed and threw myself into his arms.

"Oh God Mark! You've got to stop thinking like that. Last week, Dr. Reinholdt even told us that your PSAs are way down and that things look great." Buried my face into his neck and held him tightly. I didn't care that we weren't alone in the room. He was all that mattered.

Could hear Dr. Hillbaum turning pages in her notebook and then refresh her teacup. She cleared her throat. "Would you care for a drink?" This time Mark obliged her.

He held his cup in one hand and my hand in the other as he looked over and smiled. "I love you," we both whispered and then laughed at how we'd both said it at the same time.

"That's so lovely." Dr. Hillbaum smiled warmly. "You are a beautiful couple." We thanked her for the compliment. "I'm curious though, how do you show your love?" Was she questioning our sincerity? Or maybe _she_ needed _our_ advice.

He and I sat quietly for a moment, thinking. "Oh, well, we are fantastic in bed!" was the first thing that had come to mind. Looked at Mark. His smile had dissipated.

"We were…When the time is right, we will be again."

"I don't mean sex. Do you do nice things for one another? For instance, Mark, do you ever bring Bridget flowers for no particular reason? Or Bridget, do you ever cook him a nice meal?…Or Mark for that matter."

"I don't think Mark would really think me cooking for him would be a nice thing." Noticed him stifle a subtle grin.

"Bridget and Mark," making sure not exclude either of us. "Love is brought on many levels. If you haven't read _The Five Love Languages_ yet, I encourage you both to do so." Didn't want to admit that I'd only read the table of contents. "Love is remembering dates that seem insignificant to most but will mean the world to your partner." Decided not to mention that I knew the exact date that Mark and I had first had sex or that I knew the exact date that I knew I first _wanted_ to have sex with Mark. She looked towards Mark, "It is understanding that while maintaining a livelihood is important it is the one thing that will not be remembered or cherished in the golden years of your lives." Mark cleared his throat only to realize it was not from indignation but quite possibly an acknowledgment of truth. "It will be the little things you share, the gentle back rubs, the impromptu breakfast in bed, or the cherished love note left on the pillow. It will be the approach of coming to common minds in the rearing of the children." Mark and I released each other's hand as if by electric shock.

Suddenly there was a thud and I realized I'd dropped the teacup onto the floor. Eton. Dreaded Eton. What was I going to say about Eton? Mark went ghastly pale.

"Have I said something wrong?"

"You mentioned raising children," I answered without looking to Mark.

"But I thought we had already discussed that. When the time is right…"

"No Dr. Hillbaum. You don't understand. Mark and I have never been able to agree on this one point. In fact, last year when I thought that I was pregnant, we discussed, or rather argued, over how our children would be raised. We had a terrible fight which, compounded by a whole lot of misunderstandings, led to a break-up."

"I was under the impression that the two of you were only separated for three months."

"That was the second time." Mark touched my arm and appeared to be telepathically trying to tell me something that I didn't understand. I continued, "The first time we were separated for much longer."

"I see," she said gravely, making note on her pad. Mark shook his head negatively.

"Doctor, we're not as incompatible as I'm afraid we seem," he came to our defense. "While it's true that we do have _slightly_ different views on certain issues, we enjoy each other's company a great deal." The second part I'll agree with, but "_slightly_"? Was he being ironic?

"Let's just stick with the subject at hand for now, shall we? What is this about children?"

"Well you see, Mark here believes that _his_ children should be sent away to school rather than being raised in a loving and nurturing home environment. While I, on the other hand, want to be able to enjoy my children, to watch them grow, and to share their milestones rather than to have some grumpy headmistress tell me about it after the fact. Why would anyone even have children if they are just going to send them away?"

"My, my. It does seem that you have a very strong opinion on the subject, Bridget." She turned to Mark. "Have you anything to add?"

He inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh. "What Bridget said had been true. My family is steeped in tradition, and one of those traditions is that Darcy males attend Eton when they are old enough."

"Hmph." Crossed my arms over my chest in a show of continued protest.

"But…" Mark continued. "I've since given the matter a great deal of thought, and if it means losing the best person I've ever known, I'm willing to start a new tradition." At first I didn't think I'd heard him properly and I asked him to say it again. "You heard me. We will raise our children together…at home. I'm sure there are some wonderful comprehensive schools in London."

"Oh Mark!!! I love you!!!! Thank you!" I began planting kisses all over his face. He was laughing while trying to make me stop which just made me want to kiss him more. Dr. Hillbaum was smiling as well.

----

"So Bridget, why do you want to marry Mark?" It seemed like such a ridiculous question, especially after witnessing my reaction to Mark's willingness to compromise. How could she ask such a thing? I stared contemptuously at this woman old enough to be my mother, no visible signs of the presence of a man in her life, no pictures on her desk or bookshelves, no wedding ring, and wondered if she'd spent her entire life as a spinster and had no idea what it was like to be in love. "Don't get me wrong, I understand that you love him, but why? Sex? Money? Prestige?"

"Wot?!" I raged. Was this woman in cahoots with Peter Darcy? "He is the kindest, most…"

"Tell _him_ Bridget, not me," Dr. Hillbaum interrupted calmly with a wink and a smile. She'd tried to intentionally make me angry. I turned to Mark. "He's the kindest, most gentle man I've ever known."

"Is that the only reason?"

"He accepts me for the person that I am, and not for the person that maybe sometimes I should be. I do and say stupid things, last night for instance, but he doesn't think _I'm_ stupid…I hope."

"Of course I don't, Bridget."

"And Mark…I'll ask you the same."

"Bridget is…" He was gazing deeply into my eyes as he spoke. "well she's…" His hesitation made me more than a little nervous. "She's everything I've always wanted in a woman, even before I knew what I wanted…She's sincere and enthusiastic about life…and she's the only woman who has ever seen past the veneer and stayed long enough to know who I really am." My eyes were welling with tears. "From the moment I saw her at her parent's, so seemingly flawed yet so honest and unpretentious, some part of me knew that she was the one, or hoped that she was the one. I was so awful to her though and I don't even know why." He bowed his head and fell silent.

"Mark sweetheart, we've gotten past that." I took his face between my hands. "You're not like that anymore."

"Bridget, don't you see?" He pulled away from me, and leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands. "Yes I am. I keep hurting you. Every time I try to make things better, or try to be the man that you want me to be, I exacerbate the situation."

"Don't you know by now?" I hesitated until his eyes met mine again. "You are _exactly_ the man I want you to be."

"Am I really?" He took my hand in his, and for a moment we were lost in each other's eyes.

"Mark," Dr. Hillbaum broke in. "You mentioned that Bridget has been the only woman who has stayed. What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, he was once briefly married to a very cruel woman, you see, and…" I tried to explain.

"I'm terribly sorry Bridget, but I'd really like for Mark to answer."

"Oh. Sorry."

Hesitantly Mark began to spill the details of his ill-fated marriage to Loni, about how they had lived together beforehand and when they finally married, she had been unfaithful just weeks after their marriage and only days after they'd arrived back in London from their honeymoon in Bora Bora. He had always thought that they were happy, but during divorce proceedings, she informed him that she had never truly loved him. Maybe what she had said was true, or maybe it was just out of angry spite that she would walk away without a note of the Darcy fortune, but she'd said it and my heart broke now seeing how it had scarred him so. Quite frankly, could not imagine ever looking into those beautiful, soulful eyes and not falling madly in love with him for all of eternity.

"There is more, isn't there?" she queried. Could not bloody believe my ears, her relentlessness. Knew I should have been grateful, but my heart sank and my stomach churned as this women pressed further, asking more than was any of her business.

Unsettled, he crossed one leg and switched to the other only to switch back again. "Yes, there was someone else." He paused for an endless moment. I'd never heard of any other women, only Loni. My heart was pounding in anticipation. Finally his eyes reached mine again. "We met at university…She was in her first year. I was in my second. She was studying literature. Vivian…Vivian was…is her name." He was looking at me, but he seemed to be somewhere else, lost in the memory…of Vivian. Grrrr "We fell in love. She was my first…my first." Gaah!! His first what? Love? Shag? Or both??? Suddenly felt like an overly experienced tart. Hated to think of him ever having been with anyone else and felt a sharp twinge of jealously over a girl he'd had no connection to in at least a decade. "We had been happy for well over a year. We had so much in common. I don't know what happened. She just rang me up one day and said we were over. A week later I'd heard that she'd been seeing someone…an actor she'd met in her drama course three month before."

"Oh Mark." I placed my hand over his. "You've never told me about Vivian."

He grew quiet and inhaled deeply, releasing himself from the reverie. "Well that is the past," he added. Looking down once again and perhaps the intensity of the moment caused him to want to close down completely, as now we had gone far beyond the surface and journeyed to a very beaten and bruised area of his past.

"Why didn't you ever tell Bridget?" asked Dr. Hillbaum.

"It's in the past. I didn't think it was important."

Don't you think that should be for you and Bridget to decide together…what is important and what isn't?"

"Yes but then wouldn't she think I was comparing everything of my past to her?"

"Well aren't you?" Dr. Hillbaum hit a direct question. "Don't you think that subconsciously you are skirting around some intimate communication issues, afraid that you might get burned?"

"Yes...perhaps I am." He looked at me with tears in his eyes. "No one has ever loved me enough…to stick with me if…"

"If what, Mark?" I asked.

"If I wasn't perfect."

"No one's perfect, Sweetheart."

"I'm sorry Bridget...I know you are not them, but I need you...I love you so much, and my vulnerability is built only on one day that you would leave me like the others." This was what it all boiled down to and I now fully understand why he so relentlessly feels threatened by Daniel Cleaver. He stared at me without even an ounce of the misunderstood Darcy haughtiness that I'd first come to know. I didn't even know _that_ person anymore, nor did I want to because it isn't who he really is. Without a word I pulled myself closer to him, and Dr. Hillbaum excused herself quietly.

Began wondering what countless hours of therapy might lie ahead for us, or the verdict that we don't belong together, though I seriously doubted that was the case. I felt his grip tighten as I suspiciously began to believe and understand that perhaps we shared a lot of the same fears and anxieties. I knew we would all right.

----

Mark took me for a cozy, romantic dinner at Daphne's afterward. Never have we been more close or happier as we toasted our future with expensive Italian wine.

**10:40pm** We stood together at the bottom of the stairs. "Tell me again why you love me."

"I've already told you three times since we've been home, silly girl." He brushed his hand against my arm and kissed my forehead lightly. "Now come on…it's late." We climbed the stairs together and then I turned to go to my room, but he caught my arm. He pulled me in closely to his chest and kissed me fully. "I think that its time you moved your things into _our_ bedroom."

"Gladly."

**Friday March 29**

**7:35am **Mark is in the shower. Maybe should just surprise him with breakfast. After all, that is homework of sorts. Yuki doesn't have to be the only one to take care of him. And with her on holiday this week, it's a brilliant opportunity. Yes, v.g. idea.

**9:15am **Had decided to make crepes for my lovely fiancé. Was standing over the cooker watching my creation v. carefully. Must not ruin, burn, or poison Mark's breakfast for any reason told self. Wanted him to be impressed by my newly acquired skill.

Was concentrating on swirling doughy mixture in perfectly circular motion when he came up behind me and nuzzled his smooth face into my neck. "Mmm…smells good," he whispered throatily.

"Mark Darcy, you're making that up!!! I just put it in the pan! It doesn't smell like anything yet! Don't patronize me."

He sniggered, his face still buried in my neck, planting ticklish little kisses. "I meant you. You smell delicious."

"Oh," I giggled coyly, and for the first time since starting, my attention was severed from the crepes. His hair was damp and v. tousled. Droplets of water fell across my face and shoulders as he continued exploration of my crevices. He smelled so good. Mmm…mixture of shampoo and aftershave. Would have been impossible and quite frankly, inhuman of self to resist such advances. "What has gotten into you?" I asked playfully.

"Would you prefer that I stop?" He lifted his face to mine and smirked.

"You'll be in trouble if you do." He pressed his body even closer causing the hard chrome oven handle to press further into self's fleshy bum. Slid my fingers under his half unbuttoned dress shirt and ran my hand over his perky nipple beneath the thin cotton of his undershirt. His lips and warm, soft tongue met mine eagerly as his hands roved elsewhere. "Mark!!!! You have an erection!!!!" At first he seemed embarrassed by the outspoken declaration as if I'd shouted it out during a law function. Embarrassment instantly turned to happiness…or perhaps relief.

The race was a photo finish to the top of the stairs and into the bedroom where we fell onto the bed like dogs in heat leaving a trail of clothes in our wake.

----

A v. short while later we were back in the kitchen. "Dammit! My crepes are crap!!" Emptied the pan of unrecognizable blackened nuggets into the bin. "Sorry."

"Thank you anyway," he replied despondently as he sat in a nearby chair with his head propped in his hand.

Exhaled heavily with an exaggerated blowfish-cheeked motion. "We should have just done it right here on the kitchen table," I suggested.

"I doubt it would have made any difference." He lifted his head and looked me squarely in the eyes. "I'm really sorry Bridget."

Invited myself to sit sideways across his lap to which he accepted quite literally with open arms. "You listen to me, do _not_ apologize. It's not your fault. Do you hear me?" Ducked my head onto his shoulder. No matter how many times I said it though, I knew that a part of him still felt that it was indeed his fault. "Actually, I think you hung in there a bit longer than the last time."

"Great," he added with a disingenuous chuckle.

After a few moments of silence passed between us I sat up. "Mark, I really think it's time we seriously talked about our future." He was listening but did not speak. His eyes blinked wildly and his neck bobbed as if trying to swallow a melon whole. Surely he didn't think that I was about to chuck him again after all that we'd been through. "I'm tired of waiting…" He noticeably shuddered.

"Bridget, I understand, but…" Pressed my index finger to his lips.

"Seeing as how I've already got my dress…" Smiled slyly along with a wink. "…I want to confirm a date for the next month. Will you ring the vicar in Grafton-Underwood or shall I?"

"Did you enjoy that little fright?"

"Yes," I answered matter-of-factly. "So will you, or shall I? I need to know what to write on the invitations."

"I'm not sure that we can reserve the church, any church, on such short notice Darling." He was in better spirits. "What happened to that Italian castle you had your eye on? I know how important it is for you to be like Tom Cruise and…um…what's her name."

"Katie Holmes…and stop it! You're teasing me." He laughed heartily nearly quaking me right off of his lap.

"So why the rush all of a sudden?"

"This is not all of a sudden. I've wanted to marry you for nearly two years." He smiled, his dimple gleaming. "Quite frankly, I can no longer stand to wait to be Mrs. Bridget Jones-Darcy," I explained further, enunciating the name regally.

"Oh, so you've decided to hyphenate, have you?"

"Only professionally. I thought it v. befitting of a proper wife of an important and well-respected barrister. Do you mind?"

"Sounds like you've given it a great deal of thought. Of course I don't mind, Mrs. Jones-Darcy. But just one thing, please remember, my darling, that I'll be working fairly long hours on that foreign case I spoke with you about. After that, we go to trial. I won't be of much assistance to you in the coming weeks."

"I. Will. Handle. Everything…if you can just ring the church."

"Okay, but just don't forget to include me in at least some of your plans as well…and try not to spend all of my money either," he joked…I think.

Leaned in close again, placing my hands against the sides of his face to whisper, "I will never hurt you the way those other horrible women have."

"Bridget, I don't know what I would ever do without you." He touched his forehead and nose to mine.

"Lucky for you, you'll never have to find out." We enjoyed one last, passionate lingering snog before he changed his wrinkled shirt, combed his hair, and dashed off to work.

**9:30am **Has been a v.g. morning indeed, despite yet another failed shag attempt and burnt breakfast. Have got so much planning to do and errands to run now, but first need to call Shazzer and Jude and tell them the fantastic news…oh, and Magda too...and Tom in San Francisco. Though would love to ring Dad, would feel quite uneasy asking him not to share the news with Mum just yet, so will hold off for now. Then will need to cancel appointment with UK Today. Career will have to wait until I can proudly walk into an interview and call self Mrs. Bridget Darcy, er…Jones-Darcy. Hurrah!!!

----

Many thanks to Kathy, the "therapy elf".


	29. Chapter 29 Pillow Talk

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXIX

Pillow Talk

**Tuesday April 9**

_Weight: 9st 3 (4 pounds lost so far due to discovery of Hypnotic tracks and semi- strict steamed veggie and rice diet); Cigarettes: 10 (All stress induced, none post-coital…v. bad)(May need self-hypnotic suggestion for this as well); Weddings delayed due to fiancé's grueling work schedule whereby stupid trial has been delayed 3 weeks preventing any hope of a peaceful, romantic honeymoon until mid-May rather than dirty weekend in self's own home: 1; Weather disasters: 2(Doom!) ; New plans: 1(v.g.) Matrons of honour chosen: 1_

**4:45am** Big day has finally arrived. Hurrah! Stuck head through double doors of the large country church to see pews filled to the rafters with friends and family that never knew self had, some of whom had not seen me since was in nappies. Smiled at thought that in just a few minutes more I would be Mrs. Bridget Darcy. Upon Mum's insistence, no one had been spared from witnessing the marriage of me, Bridget Jones, to one of Britain's most illustrious members of society. Nothing could spoil this day.

Mum helped me into the meringue of ivory puffiness, taking care not to snag oversized satin bow on bum in zipper. "Your husband shouldn't have any trouble getting you out of this dress after the ceremony, should he? Just as well. It's not as if he hasn't seen everything already," she jested rather loudly. Shushed her as Jamie's young twins were standing a short distance away rehearsing their rose petal dropping technique.

Biggest regret is that Jude, Shazzer, Magda, and Tom, whom had made me promise that he could be man of honour, all are away on holiday, but promised to send suitable substitutes in their places.

The music queued up and took self's place in the vestry next to Dad. He kissed the top of my hand and wished me luck. "…You're going to need it, Poppit". An anticipatory chill quaked through my entire body. The doors parted and there at the opposite end of the aisle was the man of my dreams.

Taking one demure step at a time, fought the impulse not to burst into a full sprint toward him. If my arm hadn't been linked with Dad's so tightly, may v. well have done it. My eyes were focused on him alone, my destiny.

"So glad you could join us." Us?? Gaped at Mark in befuddlement as the groomsmen and bridesmaids filed in from either side of the altar and Dad retreated to his front row seat.

"Are you ready to begin, young lady?" the vicar asked. Shook my head. "All right then, do you Bridget Jones take this woman…and this woman…and this woman…and this woman, as well as this man…and this man…and this man…and this man to be your constant reminders of how inferior and insecure you are?"

"Wot?! I don't understand!!" Uproarious laughter came from the congregation as I realized one by one who Shazzer, Jude, Magda, and Tom had chosen to take their places. Standing beside me, all in elegant wedding gowns, were Natasha, Rebecca, Loni, and a faceless woman.

"You'll never be as intelligent as me," said Natasha.

"…or as beautiful and thin as me," said Rebecca.

"…or as exotic as me," said Loni.

"…or the one who made him into a man." She swished her long, colorless hair from side to side. "A man never forgets his first love." the woman cackled. Vivian!!

"Silly girl. You should know better," Mark condescended. More sinister laughter came from behind him as the groomsman revealed themselves as Daniel, Tim, Don the she-male, and the tattooed biker from the pub. Mark was laughing too. Everyone was laughing…and pointing at me!

Ran screaming from the church without looking back even once.

"Bridget…Bridget…wake up." Mark was staring down at me in the darkness. My God, had I actually been running? Awoke in breathless, cold sweat. "You're having another bad dream."

Sat up, still heaving from the nightmarish sprint. "Was I? It seemed so real. The wedding…it was terrible…you…"

He quieted me with a small kiss to the temple, before brushing my hair away and cradling my face to his chest. "You listen to me…It's all just irrational thoughts. It means nothing. Our wedding will be brilliant…Maybe last night's cottage pie didn't agree with you."

"Do you really think that's all it was?" Lifted my head to regard him more intimately. He always tried to blame the nightmares on something I'd eaten the night before or the fact that was wearing myself down planning the wedding.

He took my face between his hands. "Positive."

Wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled suggestively. "Maybe you can help me get back to sleep with more pleasant thoughts, hmm?"

"Bridget, I'm really tired and I've got an early morning." He wriggled from my grasp, pecked my forehead, and rolled away. He was softly snoring within minutes.

Humph! He'd have been more concerned if he'd seen the hideous dress I was wearing.

--

**9:35am Home** Just rang off with Margaret Walters needing directions to the house. Magda suggested Mark and I hire a wedding planner friend of hers who specializes in planning events on short notice. Was quite wary at first remembering last time had hired someone on Magda's recommendation and ended up with homicidal builder, Gary Wilshaw who put a gaping hole in self's flat, and don't even want to think about the monogrammed live bullet which had rendered me scared shitless. Grrrr Realized that must think positively though and put past behind, so was v. excited to meet Ms. Walters.However, when we first met at the Orangery last week was immediately put off by her rudeness. "So just how far along are you anyway?" she asked, staring at self's tummy. "Magda didn't say." Wot?? Explained that most certainly was not pregnant and that I'd been working v. hard to lose smallish inner tube surrounding self's waist…though obviously not fast enough. She begged my pardon for the presumption and admitted was really nothing to do with self's present appearance, but rather was that most women planning hasty weddings are trying to beat an impending birthday. Did not mention that a few months ago that might likely have been the case. From there we got on quite well actually, but must admit am a bit ambivalent of what she has come up with based on her assessment of my personality. As am sometimes known for giving a less than stellar first impression, hopefully Margaret's plans do not include one of those inflatable bounce houses and paper horns.

**10:00am **Mark just phoned. Was on a break. Wanted to remind me to be patient with Mum and to say that he loves me. V. romantic and supportive fiancé. Love him madly and can hardly wait until tomorrow to show him just how much. Mustn't mention this to Dr. Hillbaum as will have to listen to lecture again on how sex is not most important aspect of relationships and that there are other ways to express love. Blah, blah, blah…know this but can not help that am v. horny for sexy future husband.

**10:10am** Is raining cats and dogs. No one here yet. Hope everything is alright.

**10:20am** Gah!! Found and devoured giant piece of red velvet cake left over from last Friday's engagement party. Is all Magda's fault that have now fallen off diet wagon. Where is she?

**10:22am** Should just tidy up a bit to pass time and burn off unwanted calories. Can jump right back on wagon. Yes, v.g.

**10:23am** Cannot find anything untidy in immaculate museum type house. Yuki has dusted everything including self's collection of bobble heads resembling royal family. Look quite ridiculous, now that I really look at them, sitting atop Mark's 18th century lounge furniture. Perhaps should rethink decorating decisions. Will ask Magda for advice on this as well.

**10:30am** Will just concentrate on busy day ahead then. Trying to be in optimistic mood despite latest distressing dream and missing guests. Still waiting for Margaret and Magda. Magda…Definitely most sane and mature of self's close friends. Tried to let Jude and Sharon help last week, but was disastrous. Jude burst into tears every time I brought up anything to do with eternal happiness, commitment, or undying love, as was trying to write self's vows. Horrible timing for she and Richard to be having such a rough time of it. Poor girl. Reminds self of when she would call me from the loo at work sobbing about his commitment-phobic, fuckwit ways, except now was sitting in self's home, firmly entrenched in an unhappy marriage blubbering about the same damned thing. Once a fuckwit, always a fuckwit. Have vowed to self though, will not say 'I told you so.' And then there was cynical Shazzer who just bitched about the overpriced commercialism of it all. Suspect that she's just jealous. For better or worse though, they are my best friends and I want them to be a part of the happiest day of my life. We have private fittings scheduled for Friday with an exclusive boutique thanks to some phone calls made by future mother-in-law. Money and prestige does have its advantages now, doesn't it?

Grrrr Where the hell is everyone?

Oh good, doorbell…

**5:45pm** "Bridget, that's absolutely ridiculous!!" Magda scoffed at the retelling of the nightmare. "There's no way that Mark's exes are of any threat to you. With the wedding just weeks away, you've got bride-to-be jitters is all. And to be perfectly honest, with so little time and so much yet to do, I'd be freaking out as well." Wasn't actually freaking out over that part until she suggested that I should be. BUGGER!! She took my hands in hers and addressed me more thoughtfully. "Everything will be fine. Margaret and I will help you…Now try drinking some herbal tea. Perhaps that will calm your nerves." She turned in her seat expectantly toward the stairs leading down to the kitchen. "Is Yuki here?"

"She's at the market."

"Oh. Well then I'll make us some. Two lumps of sugar, was it?"

"One," I answered. "I'm on a diet." Then she saw to Margaret and disappeared down the stairs.

As turns out, worries of a circus theme were unfounded. Margaret had done a brilliant job coming up with the perfect theme based on self's favorite colors and flower choices…English Country Romance she calls it. White Austen-inspired heather wreaths will look lovely on the church doors, and the pinks, browns, and whites of the bouquets are perfect, absolutely perfect. Am more excited than ever before. As soon as she got my approval, she was on her mobile making arrangements. Goody! Couldn't tear my eyes off of the portfolio. Mark will love it. Was sure of it!

"Magda!! You've got to see this!!" She came back into the dining room carrying a tray of steaming cups of tea, seemingly in response to my call. Didn't realize until seconds later that she had one of those cyborg-looking Bluetooth headsets stuck to the side of her head.

"Now you've gone and done it, haven't you?! Mummy told you that you were not to have sweets. Where did you get it?!" There was a pause while she listened. "Where. Did. You. Get. It. Young Man?!" she repeated angrily. "It's very naughty to go into Nanny Marie's handbag when she isn't looking. Daddy and I told you this the last time." Her face was flushed. "Now tell her you are sorry…Go on. Tell her." More listening. "We'll have to cut it out when Mummy gets home." Silence. "Stop crying…yes we will. Maybe even shave your whole head. What do you think of that?" She rolled her eyes and mouthed to me that she was sorry. "We'll see about it when I get home. Mummy needs to talk to Auntie Bridget right now…" Then she turned to me with a sigh after ringing off. "Jeremy and I think Harry may be ADHD. He's driving us bonkers!"

"So he's gotten sweets from her handbag before?"

"No. The last time it was a packet of tampons…took years for me to come to terms with getting a nanny, and _now_ I'm fighting to keep them. Marie is our third so far, did you know? "I'm sure I don't need to tell you the poor girl was mortified when he presented the tampon to Jeremy after he came home from work and found Harry sucking on it with the string hanging from his mouth and three others on the floor next to him…He thought they looked like fishies, he said. I suppose I should be thankful that he doesn't actually know what they are." I giggled at the image and soon after she did too. "Are you sure that you and Mark want to have children?"

"Certain of it," I announced confidently, jumping up to answer an urgent pounding at the front door. Was Mum, holding a bright red brolly, resembling a drowned rat. "For God's sake Mum, did you drive here with the windows down?!"

"Sorry I'm late, Darling, but I was involved in a bit a prang," she explained shakily, as she entered the foyer, dripping water all over Yuki's freshly polished floor.

"Oh my God Mum!! Are you hurt?! Come in and sit down." Led her into the lounge while Magda went for something to dry off with and a cup of tea. Margaret was still on the phone in the dining room. "What happened?! Have you phoned Dad?! Are you certain you are ok?! It's all my fault…I shouldn't have asked you to bring my dress in this weather."

"Settle down Bridget. All that worrying is not good for your complexion…" Magda brought in a few towels and a fresh tray of tea and biscuits. "Thank you Dear. You certainly are looking well. That color blouse looks absolutely divine against your skin tone. You must be an autumn," she regarded Magda then turned back to me. "Doesn't Mark have a housekeeper? As lady of the house, Darling, it is quite poor manners to have your guests serving other guests."

"Mother forget that and tell me what happened!!"

Her eyes were still floating round the room. "You know I don't believe I've ever been inside Mark's house before. Quite posh, isn't it? A little plain maybe, but lovely. We really should hire a color consultant to sort it all out. Oh speaking of Mark, how is his winky doing?" She wiggled her index finger like a puppet. "Still…you know?" Her finger wilted. "You know I read somewhere that the Peruvians drink frog juice for that."

"Mother!!"

"Ok…ok…There was a wreck of sorts, but you should know that no one was injured and Una and Geoffrey's SUV didn't suffer a single scratch thank goodness….It would seem that I didn't latch the boot properly after loading everything this morning in the rain. Una warned me that the latch was tricky, and that Geoffrey hadn't gotten round to repairing it yet. I just don't know why that man procrastinates the way he does. Do you know that it took him two months before he…"

"Focus mother!!"

She took on a more self-pitying tone, "I was just in such a hurry…It's Daddy's fault really. If he hadn't insisted upon keeping his afternoon poker date I could have driven our car…" Had v.v. sinking feeling.

"Mother!! The dress! What about the dress?! Just a little wet, right?!"

"Oh all right," she sighed heavily. "Your wedding dress fell out of the boot and was run over by a rubbish lorry."

Magda gasped while I remained in shocked silence. "WHAAAAT??" was the only sound that eventually came out resembling any sort of word. If she would have said 'Don't say what, say pardon' I think I may have smacked her, but she must have thought better of it. My brain was like a fruit machine spinning wildly in search of a rational reason why she would drive all the way to London and not realize that the bloody boot was ajar. After 35 and a half years should I really wonder why she does any of the things that she does? Glared at her levelly and snarled, "How could you not know that the boot was not latched?!"

"Now I know that you're upset, Darling, but if it's of any consolation, Geoffrey's golf clubs were crushed as well…Shame on that lorry driver for following so closely…I'm just in such a state right now." She fanned herself with a napkin. "Oh! I just got a brilliant idea…Maybe Mummy can cut off the bottom and the sleeves and make you a lovely spring minidress. How does that sound?" She grinned hopefully.

Margaret entered the room with her hand over the mouthpiece of her mobile. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but how many nosegays should I order?"

"Nosegay?? What the hell is a nosegay?!" I shouted at Margaret undeservingly.

"There's no need to be nasty, Darling. Those are the small bouquets for…" Mum began.

"It doesn't matter! No nosegays, no anything! Cancel it all! There will be no wedding!!"

Could not breath and ran from the room feeling as if was going to be sick. Was sprawled across the bed, sobbing when Magda found me a short time later. "It's just a dress Bridget." My face was buried in the duvet, but could feel the bed move beneath me as she sat, and then her hand was rubbing my back. "It can be replaced…and besides, Mark is marrying _you_, not the dress. He wouldn't care whether you are wearing an expensive gown or a ski costume."

Rolled over to face her. "Look at the symbolism of it, Magda…A RUBBISH LORRY destroyed my wedding gown! My marriage is doomed and it hasn't even happened yet! I might as well spare Mark the torment of another divorce." Buried my face again to shield the second wave of tears that were coming.

"Bridget Jones you sit up right now and listen to me…you and Mark are meant to be together. Your nerves are getting the better of you right now, but never in my life have I met two people who I thought loved and deserved each other more. The way you bring out the best in, and add dimension to each other's lives…no ruined dress or bad dream can take that away." Sat in silence, unable to look at her, my eyes rimmed in tears. "Quite frankly, I can't take any more of Mark's crying if you break his heart again. To see him in such a state breaks _my_ heart."

"He cried for me?"

"Bridget, you're the love of his life." A smile broke through the tears.

"If it weren't for you and Jeremy, I don't know where Mark and I would be right now. You've been such a good friend to us both. That's why…um,…" Hesitated knowing I was going to make two people v. dear to me quite unhappy. Would work it out though. Magda and I had a different sort of bond, and in some ways an even closer one than I have with Jude and Sharon. "…I would be very grateful if you'd be my matron of honour." We sat on the side of the bed and hugged. She didn't have to say anything for me to know that she accepted. "That weekend at the cottage…it was a turning point in our relationship you know." Sniffled and wiped my eyes with a tissue. "I knew that I was still in love with him, and not just because I was pregnant with his child. It was something stronger and unexplainable that was keeping us connected. I knew in my heart that he felt the same way. It was the way he looked at me, you know?" Magda smiled and nodded, her eyes misty. "I just wish it hadn't taken so bloody long. God, we were both so stupid and prideful." As if on cue, there were loud footsteps and the bedroom door swung up.

Magda squeezed my hand before excusing herself. She patted Mark on the shoulder as she passed through the doorway.

Stood up and rushed into his arms. "Is it possible that I love you more now than I did this morning?" Before he could reply I kissed him passionately, pulling myself up into his arms until my feet were floating.

"I love you too," he said, stunned but not opposed to such unexpected affection.

"Sweetheart, aren't you home early?" I queried, still entangled in his arms. His face turned from surprise to worry as he gently lowered me back onto my feet before removing his suit jacket and loosening his tie. "Have you come home for a little afternoon rendezvous?" I giggled coquettishly, further liberating his neck from his work clothes. "You really shouldn't have in this storm, you know. There will be plenty of time for us to get _reacquainted_ tomorrow." Giggled again, placing my hand against his flaccidity.

"Uh, Bridget, I need to tell you something and I'm not sure how you're going to react," he announced v. seriously. I pulled away.

"Mark, you're scaring me. Are you ill? Shall I ring Dr. Reinholdt?" Crossed the room and reached for the phone, but he seized my hand.

"No, no. I'm sorry to scare you. Nothing of the sort…Why don't you sit down though." Nothing good ever followed someone telling someone else that they should sit down. "I received a call from Vicar Warren about an hour ago." He breathed heavily and placed his hand on the side of my neck, brushing my cheek with his thumb. He was stalling just as Mum had. "He said that a tornado had touched down in Grafton Underwood this morning and destroyed several structures in the area."

"Was the church destroyed?!" Closed my eyes as if to make it not so. I knew what was coming. First the dress, now the church.

"Not completely destroyed, but the roof was heavily damaged and several of the windows were blown out. He doesn't think that all of the repairs will be complete in time for…"

And then I surprised him. "Don't worry Sweetheart…the church may be damaged and my gown destroyed, ironically on the same day mind you, but our love is just as strong as ever." Yes, v.g. calm and cool…it's just a dress…it's just a building. Kept reminding self.

He smiled just enough that the beginnings of a dimple were visible. "I have to admit, I'm impressed by the mature manner of which you are handling this. I thought you would be much more upset."

"Had you told me this a half hour ago, I would have fallen to pieces, but a very good friend helped me put things into perspective, and it just so happens that I know a better place for our wedding. We just need to get Magda and Jeremy's permission first."

He must have known, or at least had a reasonable idea, because he didn't ask. Instead he leaned in to press his warm lips against the curve of my neck. Rolled my head to the side and moaned softly. Held my breath in anticipation as he lifted my hair further to trace a path with his tongue to my earlobe. "I want you so badly…This is absolute torture," I gasped, arching my back. His hands were so expertly gentle against my skin as he reclined me back against our bed, bringing himself down atop me, his hands roving above and beneath my clothes. He grasped my thigh firmly and growled in frustration. Was calling his name with a strangled whisper as he brought me to pleasure with the touch of his fingers.

"Tomorrow I'll do better," he promised.

There was a light knock against the door. Pulled ourselves together, and Mark was up and replacing his suit jacket when Magda reentered. "I'm so very sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid I've got to go. Harry found the scissors and has cut a bald spot in Marie's hair. I'll phone you later. Wish me luck…" She blew us a kiss and dashed off. Not 10 seconds later she popped her head back in, "Just a suggestion, but you might want to get downstairs. Your mum is alone with the wedding planner."

Bollocks!!

Wednesday April 10Weight: 9st 4 (likely due to consolatory dinner out last night, but will soon begin to lose weight through 'Sex as exercise' regimen)

**10:15am **Have just returned from Dr. Reinholdt's office. As expected Mark has been given go ahead to rejoin sexual revolution provided we use Durex for now so self does not become exposed to residual radiation during…activities. Most importantly, of course, is that Mark is progressing well and that all evidence of cancer should be gone soon. Hurrah!!

Mark was given prescription to combat dysfunction so should literally be back in the saddle as soon as he returns home from work. Bloody lawyers and their bloody responsibilities! Today should be declared a holiday!!

And to celebrate said holiday, have purchased a sexy black teddy.

**1:45pm** Having difficulty concentrating on anything today including self's own wedding. Margaret coming round soon with music samples. Will have to stay focused. Right.

**5:45pm** Telephone…was Mark. Will be home shortly and is bringing Indian take-away as had given Yuki a paid holiday.

**Thursday April 11**

Dinner was a blur last night. Can only recall the delicious rose petal crème brulee that he fed to me after. Was all v. romantic as we talked, held hands, and ate on the sunset lit terrace. We spoke of the wedding as it was foremost in our minds. But in those moments looking into his eyes was tempted to suggest chucking it all and eloping to some far away exotic destination. We'd surely never hear the end of it from our families.

He took my hand and we danced slowly to music Margaret and I had chosen, mostly piano love songs. I knew that Mark was nervous about the night's outcome. As we danced could feel a subtle tremble in his touch and a heaviness in his breathing. "Whatever happens," I whispered, "I will not be disappointed in you." Though I meant what I said, still wanted to reassure him for fear that if he was too tense our shared frustration would continue.

We climbed the stairs together and retired to the bedroom. Left him to change, but when I returned he was slumped on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, looking sullen and distraught. Came and stood before him without saying anything and placed my hands in his hair. First he looked up at me sadly and then he put his hands on my hips and rested his forehead against my stomach. Pulled him even closer. Was glad that he couldn't see my tears. Instead I just held him to me and stroked his hair.

When we parted I saw that he too had tears in his eyes. I sat to address him levelly. "The doctor told us that it can take a while, especially the first time. Try not to worry, Sweetheart." He didn't answer, nor did his somber expression change, but the kiss that followed told me that he hadn't lost hope.

Time passed…what seemed to be an exorbitant amount of time passed, but eventually Mark abandoned his explorations and settled himself next to me propped on one elbow. He actually seemed rather startled and disconcerted by what was happening. I touched my hand to his chest. His heart was beating so quickly. The room was completely silent except for the sound of a periodic car motor in the street below and our breathing.

His lip quivered slightly in that sexy way that it does when his brain is trying to speak but his conscience stops him. "What is it Mark?"

Long silence, as if wrestling with some deep thought. "I love you so much." His words were barely audible.

Moved my hand to his slightly stubbled cheek. "I know you do, silly. I love you too."

"No Bridget. I mean it." Furrowed my brow thinking how oddly serious he was being about something we'd said to each other hundreds of times. "You are the most incredible woman I've ever known. I owe you so much," he whispered. His eyes appeared glassy in the moonlight reflected through the window. "Thank you for saving me."

Slowly and cautiously he brought his face down to mine, stopping briefly as if to rethink what he was about to do. "Please," I whispered in return. His lips grazed mine lightly and I kissed his lower lip. His sweet, warm breath blanketed my face. "Mark, I adore you with all my heart and soul. I don't want to spend another day of my life without you…all of you." His tender yet passionate kiss took my breath away.

Sat up so that he could pull the teddy seductively from my shoulders and over my head. Then he laid me back down and ran his open hand gently down the length of my body from my throat to my stomach, taking the time to lay his hand flat against my stomach, then bringing his lips to the place where our baby had once been. "Someday," heard him whisper as if was a promise of his manhood. My heart was pounding uncontrollably as he slid my pants slowly down my legs and over my feet. Had been just over four months since we had last been together intimately and was now lying completely naked and aching for him. Sat up, reaching for his shirt, as he was still fully clothed.

"No," he said, urging me to lie back. "You relax. You're going to need your strength." He winked salaciously and I smiled. Watched as he stood and removed his clothes in a slow strip tease of sorts, taking in every delicious inch of his gorgeous naked body. As he climbed over me I helped him slip on the Durex to which we both found unexpected pleasure in sharing the task.

--

Awoke early this morning to Mark's gentle lips blazing a trail across my bare back. "Good morning sleepyhead," he whispered when I stirred. He planted a few more gentle kisses upon my shoulder and then muffled into my ear, "You were fantastic last night." Rolled toward him, stretching and yawning, feeling v. unsexy and in need of another few hours of sleep, but v.v. happy.

"You were quite fantastic yourself, Mr. Darcy, and well worth the wait," I replied groggily, running my fingers down the length of his unshaven face. "I didn't hear the alarm. Is it time for work already? It's so dark." He stretched his arm across my stomach and brought his face to mine, close enough that could tell he'd already risen and brushed his teeth. Wished had been able to do the same.

"No, it's early yet. Actually…I was hoping we could have another go if it's alright with you," he said rather bashfully, and then dipping his face briefly to kiss my chest. "I seem to recall that you are rather fond of a morning shag." He began to busy himself with my neck and chest.

"Why you randy little devil. Have you already taken…" He stopped what he was doing and lifted the sheet to reveal himself confidently. "Why yes you have! You almost don't need my help, do you?"

"Just give me five minutes," took another look at his naughty bits, "Try not to start without me, and don't touch it." Slid out from under him, gathered the sheet around me, and shuffled out of bed. Had not taken but two steps when I felt a sharp tug.

"Hey!!" I screeched. Not sure if will ever feel completely comfortable with self's squishy exterior even in front of the man who is accepting of said squishiness.

Spun round to find Mark stretched across the bed propped on one elbow, naked as the day he was born, grinning suggestively. God how did I get so lucky! "There's not an inch of you I haven't seen before. Let me enjoy the view, will you?" He wanted to play, so was more than happy to indulge him even at such an ungodly hour. Turned from him without a word and sauntered seductively toward the loo, taking care not to move in fashion of what Richard Finch has described as a salmon struggling to swim upstream. At the door I turned, batted my eyes, and blew him a kiss.

Once inside began to jump round like a lunatic. Could not believe how wicked Mark was being. Had to pinch self several times to make sure I hadn't dreamt the last 9 hours. Little blue pills or not, Mark Darcy is a sex god!! Goody! Goody! GOODY!!

Reemerged from the loo fully composed to find the pre-dawn haze further shielded by the drapes. Mark was lying in repose as he was before but bathed in a flickering amber glow from a single rose scented candle. "You naughty man…"

"Come here…" Hmmm

When finally he succumbed to the call of duty and headed for the shower, was completely at peace and smiling from ear to ear. "Maybe I'll join you. You may need help… scrubbing your back." I suggested in my most beguiling voice.

"You want me to be late, don't you?" He flashed an intoxicating smile as he closed the door.

"You know Mark, we've never done it in the bath," I continued on, hoping to further entice him into an aquatic rendezvous.

The door popped back open. "Is that right? I suppose we'll just have to rectify that situation then, won't we?"

He closed the door again, leaving me in what can only be described as extreme post-coital bliss. Yes Lord, a new day has dawned.

--

After showering he came again and kissed me at the end of the bed. Was on my knees still naked, "Come back to bed for a while. I'm not ready to let you out of my sight yet."

Began to unbutton his dress shirt and pull him down toward me, but he seized my hand. "There's nothing I'd rather do, my love, but I must go to work." I pouted mockingly. "Would you like to meet me for lunch? Say Caffe Nero? I should be out of morning meetings by 12:30." He checked his watch. "Shall I ring you when I'm free?"

I smiled, replying with another long kiss to which he eagerly reciprocated. "Maybe we can discuss our wedding further. Or maybe," kissed his freshly shaven cheek softly, "you can come home and we can…" Took his earlobe between my lips and sucked gently.

"Yes, perhaps we can do just that," he replied with a smirk, encircling my waist with his arms.

"Mark?" Pulled back a bit. "I was just wondering…are you planning a stag party?"

He cocked his head, wearing an odd expression. "My darling, after the morning we just had not to mention everything else that we've been through, you can't possibly be jealous?" He knows me so well. My silence confirmed his suspicion. "You have absolutely nothing to worry with. Jeremy informed me that he and a few of the mates are planning a little something." Was still concerned. "We'll just have a few pints at the pub, maybe throw some darts…watch football."

"No tart-filled cakes? Tanned, long-legged, waifish tarts?"

"I can not say for sure, but…I'm certainly not interested in anything of the sort." He took my shoulders firmly and looked me squarely in the eyes. "You know that Bridget. You have _nothing_ to worry about. I've gotten you back, and I couldn't possibly bear to lose you again." He released my shoulders and took a step back. "I leave you for ten minutes and you start getting all sorts of insane ideas. What's this all about?"

"But let's just say that there is a woman…an exotic, beautiful woman?" He rolled his eyes skyward. "Perhaps an Asian woman? Can you say that you wouldn't be tempted?"

He smacked himself in the head. "Tempted? Bridget, just because I was married to a Japanese woman for roughly twenty minutes doesn't mean that I'm attracted to all Asian women." Was then feeling silly for being so worrisome and making such a generalization of his taste in women. "Besides, if I was, Yuki and I would have had a torrid affair by now." He chuckled. I did not. He quickly realized that he'd made a bad joke that very well jeopardizes the housekeeper's future employment. "Look Bridge, you are the only gorgeous, voluptuous woman I'll ever need or want."

"Voluptuous? You mean chunky, don't you?"

"No. No I don't." He was irritated. "Stop scrutinizing everything I say, and for God's sake stop obsessing over your weight all the time. You are your own worst enemy…How much do you weigh, really? About 11 stone? It doesn't matter to me at all."

I gasped. "Wot?? First of all Mark Darcy, you never ask a woman how much she weighs! And second…oh my god! Do I look that big?" Bugger! Bugger!! Bugger!! Note to self: Current diet not working fast enough. Eat nothing but seaweed and fruit from now until wedding.

Realizing his faux pas, he looked at his watch again anxiously. "I'm sorry Darling. I am a terrible judge of such matters. Please don't be offended by my ignorance. Let's not end such a lovely morning with bitterness, ok?" Couldn't help but chuckle at his apparent mortification. In turn his expression softened and he kissed my forehead. "I really must be off now." The scent of bacon and eggs had wafted up the two flights of stairs reminding him that he still had to scarf down breakfast before dashing to work. He hurried toward the bedroom door.

"Mark?"

"Bridget?"

"Was Vivian Asian as well?" Had been dying to broach the subject of Mark's mysterious first love for days. If am going to have nightmares about her, need to at least be able to piece together a face.

"No," was all he said in that regard. "I'll call you for lunch."


	30. Chapter 30a Spinster No More

This is a repost of the first half of the final chapter (originally posted for about a week a few months ago) with minor revisions. Part II coming soon.

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXX

Spinster No More

(Part I)

**Thursday April 11 (cont.)**

_Weight: 9st3; Cigarettes: 5 (practicing restraint v.g.); Ranting, jealous best friends: 1 (that know of); unexpected rendezvous: 1; Days til wedding: 31(v.g.)_

_Gift inventory (so far) from invited guests not attending: __2 Royal Worchester "Monaco" china sauce boats (identical), __cheeky (scary) gigantic blue fish-shaped soup tureen (Gah!!), __heart-shaped waffle maker, __1 place setting of RW "Monaco" china (Goody!)_

**10:35pm Wedding Command Central **Having reached pinnacle of Urban Family hell am ready to chuck all wedding preparations and elope…maybe to the poshness of Rome, or some far away romantic island where Mark can ravish me senseless on the beach under the stars.

Self's so-called best friends have been v. unsupportive and quite frankly are driving me mad. Jude is furious with me, Shazzer is oddly distant and I miss her, but at same time when she is around she's an absolute beast and I can't wait to get away from her. They're both giving poor Magda the silent treatment, which only makes things a bazillion times more difficult to coordinate anything…

"So you've made your decision, have you?" Was the first thing Jude squawked into the phone, intruding upon self's panic attack amongst dining and sitting rooms overrun with wedding paraphernalia, stacks of opened and unopened gifts, and a rather large pile of RSVPs for a location that was no more. She sounded drunk…really drunk. "I don't suppose I should be at all surprised really that you'd choose Magda over one of us! We've _only_ been your best friends since university…or have you forgotten?!"

"Of course I haven't forgotten," I snapped, flipping through the post. "I want you to be part of my wedding. It's not like I'm chucking you from the ceremony," I responded more grovely than I meant to. "…but Magda…she's really been there for me…especially lately through everything with Mark." _Who the hell are Chuck and Judy Armstrong??? And why are they bringing three guests with them?!?! Grrrr_

"And I haven't??" she hissed. "Who sat up with you when you were pregnant and suicidally depressed over Mark and Rebecca?… Who bailed you out of jail when you were mistakenly arrested for prostitution during the New Labour victory celebration?… Who rushed you to the hospital when you thought you had been bitten by a sand fly and contracted that flesh-eating virus that turned out to be a cold sore?…Who pretended to be your lover when…"

"Right. I get it," was my feeble irritated concession, slamming the handful of invitations onto the table. When they all tumbled to the floor I just became angrier. Jude's scathing disapproval is pointless really. What's done is done. Have chosen the most level-headed, responsible person I know (did not say in so many words) and Magda has already gushingly accepted and I couldn't be happier.

"Not even married yet and you've already become one of _them_!" she spat.

"One of who???" I shouted back.

"You know exactly who! A smug married that's who!" Ugh.

"That's absolute rubbish Jude! I've told you before, nothing will change…except maybe I won't get shit-faced as a way of life. That can't be a bad thing, now can it?…Besides, marriage hasn't exactly made _you_ into a smug married!"

"Oh _please_, everyone was completely right about Richard! How could I be smug about that?!" She definitely had a point. "And you can just forget about shagging, you know. After three months you'll back on the Rabbit because he'll be too tired, has a migraine, or is in a bad mood. He's _always_ in a fucking bad mood Bridget!!!" Didn't know if I should offer condolences or be scared. Three months?!?! Was thinking should weigh in on the once-again-Vile Richard situation, perhaps to divert attention from being berated over wedding choices by suggesting a rereading of Mars and Venus Together Forever or perhaps an appointment with Dr. Hillbaum. "Have you even thought about hen night? Hm?? Have you??" she added, almost without skipping a beat.

"Yours?"

"Don't be stupid, yours…What's Magda going to do…serve tea and crumpets in the garden while her bratty, beggar kids run round throwing bennies?! I know you Bridge…You'd rather have alcohol, loud music, and strippers." Hadn't much thought about hen night actually, but what's wrong with a lovely garden party…with loud music?

"Absolutely no strippers!!!!! I made Mark promise, so I can't be a hypocrite, now can I?"

"Wait a minute! Now I get it…Magda was _Mark's_ idea, wasn't she?!" she slurred.

"Sorry?!!!"

"Mark has never liked us! He's afraid we'll embarrass, not you, but him. His law partner is best man, right?…so naturally he'd want his proper little wife to be your matron of honour! I'm right, aren't I? Smug bastard!!!"

"I beg your pardon!!! You're talking about the man that I love!" I shouted into the phone. "I'll thank you not to insult him or his…_our_ friends," I continued, returning to a more even tone, but perhaps with a bit too much pride.

"There it is. You just proved my point." Phone was beeping. Shit. Horrid timing.

"Um…Jude, I've got another, uh…call. Hang on."

"Is it Sharon?…Have you told her yet?!?! Because she's going to…" Exasperatedly, I cut her off.

"Mark? Where are you?" Was confused because I knew he was in the house. When last had seen him he'd come home, we'd eaten supper together, and then he'd gone off to finish reviewing case depositions in his office. "What's wrong?? Are you ill?"

He chuckled and then spoke. "Why don't you come find me…" His voice was low and eerie. Was like in one of those scary movies where the killer phones only to find out that the call is coming from inside the house, all the doors are bolted shut, and the victim has 5 minutes left to live.

"Mark, are you teasing me?…I have a crisis on my hands with Jude right now and I have so many wedding plans yet to sort through. What's this all about?" Stuck my head into his dark office with the phone still to my ear. "I thought you were working…"

"Come upstairs," he said, ignoring my comment.

"We're a little old for hide and seek, don't you think?" I teased, forgetting that I'd left Jude on hold. The line went dead. "Mark…Mark?"

Busied myself popping my head in and out of rooms and cupboards. There was no light shining beneath our bedroom door, but perhaps he was waiting for me in bed. No Mark, but there were a few candles dimly burning on the night table. A huge bundle of freshly cut, long stemmed pink roses was in the center of the bed along with a gift-wrapped package and a note in Mark's handwriting. I took in the sweet scent that enveloped the room as I read the note.

'_To my beautiful Bridget…Each of these two and a half dozen roses represents the days until I pledge my life and love to you before God, our family and friends, the day that you become my wife…Love always and forever, Mark' _There was a P.S…_ 'Open the gift'._

Inside the beautifully shop-wrapped box was a delicate knee-length pink silk dressing gown trimmed in lace. The accompanying note read, _'Undress, put this on, and meet me at the end of the trail…_

I complied with Mark's wishes, pulled the elastic band from my hair letting it fall freely past my shoulders, and admired the gown briefly in the full-length mirror. I hadn't immediately noticed the trail of pink petals leading to the closed en-suite door.

The bathroom was bathed in romantic light from quite literally dozens of pink and white candles of all shapes and sizes. And in the centre of it all was Mark frothed in bubbles.

He took a long, slow drag from his goblet, never taking his eyes from me as he did. "I was just wondering if this morning's offer to scrub my back is still on the table?…Or do you need to talk Jude through her latest crisis?"

"Jude who?" I replied as the gown hit the tile.

**Tuesday April 23**

_Weight: 9st 5 (Grrrr…too many Cadbury milktrays, caramel frappes, and bags of crisps in weak attempt to combat stress and nerves), Cigarettes: 20+ (v. bad), Exciting propositions: 1; Shocking discoveries: 1; Days til wedding: 20 (Panic!!!)_

_Gift Inventory (so far): __2 dragonfly-patterned king-sized egg coddlers (????), __2 more place settings of RW "Monaco" china (Hurrah! Can now have dinner party for 3), __2 floral Royal Winton Chintz table lamps (Goodie!!…Mark is worried) _

**7:40am **How ironic that the days leading up to the happiest day of a woman's life are the most tiring and daunting. Every day seems to bring about a new challenge or circumstance. Yesterday was a question of whether braised lamb chops with peach sauce or veal scaloppini was to be served at the reception, and then there was the decision to serve said food as French service, butlered service, or buffet onto cream rose, roseline, or powder rose table linens. One would not think such decisions would be so major, but when there are seemingly 50 or more similar questions flying at a person everyday it becomes v. overwhelming. By noon am ready for a cup of tea followed by a nap. Margaret, Magda, Elaine Darcy, and yes, even Mum have been God sends for keeping self from becoming a Bridezilla. Though at the same time, presence of Mum anywhere within shouting distance greatly increases chances of becoming said Bridezilla at any given moment.

Mark is due in court by 8:00, and so is already gone. Just as well. Have got to pick up silver bangle bracelets am giving Magda, Jude, and Sharon. I fear that if were to mention the latter two's names again in his presence he may v. well leave me on grounds of having intolerable friends. After nearly two weeks of snippiness, am happy to report that the girls and I were able to call a truce. Actually I was the one who gave in. Was Mark's idea really…such the brilliant problem solver that he is. He helped me realize that under the circumstances, how could I possibly put one over the other without them killing each other…or me. The girls and I had reached a rather juvenile impasse indeed. The more they fought me on it, the more stubborn I became. The Dating War Command had become an all out war of egos and Mark was becoming concerned that before long someone was going to be drawn and quartered under the penalty of treason…namely me. So despite the fact that he most certainly did not approve of their petty and imbecilic behaviour to begin with, Mark, being the sensible man that he is, stepped in with the idea of having all three of them as matrons and maid of honour. Only way to keep Jude and Shaz from coming to blows over the matter of who would stand closest to me at the altar was to insist that Magda would because she was hosting the wedding in her country home.

Am off to do a bit of shopping. Besides wedding party gifts, want to find the absolute perfect gift for Mark. Something sentimental and timeless…or kinky. Have got a wedding night to think about, haven't I?

Ooh…phone.

**7:50am **Was Leah Wells from UK Today requesting a meeting. Said she had a lucrative proposition for me. Hmm…sounds intriguing.

**3:45pm** Excited by the prospect of a new job, I couldn't wait for Mark to get home to share the news so decided to surprise him. Thought maybe should bring him a Progreso cappuccino and a bear claw as a peace offering in the case that he was angry for the intrusion on his busy day. He doesn't like for me to interrupt him at work. Says I distract him, rightfully so. Smiled at the memory of our first reunion encounter in his chambers after the original marriage proposal. Yes, distracting indeed.

"Bridget, what are you doing here?" he asked with perceived annoyance, meeting me in the corridor, looking round as he spoke. "Let's go to my chambers." On the way he explained that court had just adjourned early for the day. We were walking so quickly that I kept tripping in my new red peep-toe pumps.

"Mark, you won't believe it…I think I may have landed a fantastic job while I was out shopping today!"

"While out shopping, you say? What's the job…personal shopper to…to…oh I don't know…uh, someone famous?" He dropped his briefcase onto the desk and waved off his blunder, looking perplexed. "I thought you didn't want to work."

"Mark Darcy I never said such a thing! I just didn't want to work until after we're married. I will _not_ be a kept woman."

"Yes ma'am," he chuckled. "So what's the job?"

"Well, you won't believe this, but somehow UK Today heard that Sit Up Britain has been trying to lure me back due to a drop in ratings…The executive producer rang this morning and asked if I'd come round for a chat."

"Wait…isn't UK Today the job that you already turned down?" Mark interrupted.

"Mark, hush up and listen!" Couldn't help but be excited. He conceded by leaning back against the front of his desk, sipping his cappuccino.

"Anyway, they are prepared to counteroffer with more money and…this is the best part…my own show! Well, not exactly my own show…yet. It's still UK Today, but I'd have my own regular chat segment."

"That's brilliant! Do you…" He was reaching out for my waist, but I pulled away.

"Wait, there's more! Based on audience demand for me to return to Sit Up Britain and the Smooth Guide, if my segment is popular on their programme, there's a chance that I could get my own show!!! Isn't that fantastic Mark?!?!…Oh my God! I haven't told the girls yet…"

"I can't believe you told me before them. I should be so honoured," he reacted wryly.

"Of course I told you first. You're my husband…or will be very soon. Ooo I love the sound of that…my _husband_."

He smiled brightly. "I like the sound of it too." He stroked my chin lightly. "I'm so proud of you! This calls for a celebration, wouldn't you say?" he whispered, nuzzling my neck.

"What did you have in mind Mr. Darcy?" I purred, placing my hands against his chest.

Unexpectedly, he retreated. "Bear claw?" He reached into the Progreso bag, pulled out the pastry, and handed me half.

"You tease!" I scolded playfully.

There was a knock at the door. Mark granted entrance and the bear claw crumbled onto the Oriental rug when I saw who it was. "Mark, excuse me for the interruption." He glanced at me, and then back to Mark. "I just wanted to let you know that the files on the Olefami case have arrived. Nigel suggested that we all convene in the conference room for discussion in 15. Will you be available?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you." Mark replied stiffly.

Then he regarded me, "Good to see you Bridget. You're looking well." My mouth was open but nothing came out. He flashed his fantastic smile and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Wot is Tim Windham, er…Harbeson doing here?!?!"

"Um…he's joined the partnership actually," Mark began rather sheepishly. "He's working here at Middle Temple now. I was against it at first, for reasons you can surmise, but the other partners convinced me otherwise. Professionally speaking, he's a brilliant corporate lawyer. We did the research…His reputation is impeccable. Er…Did I forget to mention it?"

"How long has he been here?!"

"A few weeks now." He picked up an already neat stack of papers and tapped them unnecessarily against the desktop.

"A few weeks!" I parroted. "Have you learned nothing from therapy?! Why didn't you tell me?"

Worry blanched his face and he cleared his throat. "It was a professional decision and nothing to do with you. Does it really matter?"

_YES IT BLOODY MATTERS!!!! __He's working with my ex-boyfriend, someone with whom I've recently shagged repeatedly, and he asks if it matters? Is he mad???_ That's not what I said though.Took a deep breath and changed my tone. "Ok Mark. If it doesn't matter to you, I suppose…it shouldn't matter to me either, should it?" I mean it's not as if Tim and I will be seeing each other everyday…just maybe the occasional law function. Even if he comes round for supper from time to time it won't matter, right? Mark's right. He and I will be happily married, and it'll be no different than if I chatted up Jeremy, Nigel, or Giles. Wait a minute…

I must have been pulling an odd face. "What's that look for?"

"Mark…how did you know?" The crease between his brows deepened. "That Tim wasn't…"

"an exterminator?" He finished my sentence. I stared wide-eyed, waiting for his reply. "Bridge, Peter confessed. He told me everything."

"And you forgive him?"

"Let's just say that we're not on the best of terms right now."

"You're not angry with me?"

"For moving on with your life when I was so hateful to you, or because you wanted to keep peace within my family?" He put down the papers still in his hands, walked over and took me in his arms. "I'd be a fool to be angry with you." He kissed me passionately, v. nearly taking my breath away. "So…," he continued while I tried to catch my breath, "are you planning to see Mr. Harbeson?"

Cocked my eyebrow in confusion. "See him? As in for a date?"

"You know what I mean." Actually, I didn't exactly know what he meant. Was in utter disbelief of how mature he was being. If it were me in the same situation there's no way in hell that I'd have allowed an ex to be anywhere near the two of us.

"Only if I need legal advice."

"For that you can come to me, my beautiful, sexy tv star."

"Well then no. I guess I won't be seeing him," I assured. And I sincerely meant it. I have no use for or desire to see Tim Harbeson ever again. Though with him as Mark's colleague, I knew that would not be.

He sort of just half smiled. "Good." He kissed me once more, running his hands down my back and letting them settle on my bum. "I can't wait to marry you."

Time passed and alas duty called for us both. Started out the door with a song in my heart, but a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. Popped my head back in. "You do trust me, right?"

"Of course." Something in me was not completely convinced.

**Thursday May 2**

_Weight: 9st 7; Days til wedding: 10 (OMG!!!)_

_Gift inventory (so far): __2 more RW "Monaco" china sauce boats (identical) – could perhaps start own sauce boat navel fleet, __set of knives (Doom!!!) – v. bad luck. __His and Hers silver pocket flasks (With note attached saying "You'll need it.")_

**10:15am** Doom! Sodding jewelers have engraved 'Bridget and Mack forever' on Mark's ring. MACK?!?! Grrrr

**10:16am** Surely bad omen brought on by gift of knives. Must not panic. Will ring Magda and ask her opinion.

**10:25am** Says am being superstitious. Surely Dad's golf partner and his wife are not trying to sabotage self's marriage, but to be safe should send them a sixpence to offset any possible bad karma by making gift a purchase. V.g. Crisis averted.

**Saturday May 4**

_Weight: 9st 8 (Gaaaaahhhhh!!!!!); Crash diets: 1; Reunions: 1; Days til wedding: 8_

_Gift inventory (so far): __RW "Monaco" china coffee pot, __2 sets of monogrammed towels, __multi-colored blown glass sculpture of something resembling a melting elephant (????)_

**9:05am** Morning post box overflowing again! Now that guests have been notified of the revised location, even more RSVPs are beginning to come back by post, email, and phone. Seems now that ceremony is being held in a less Holy setting (not in a church), more people are inclined to come. What does that say about our families??

Margaret has advised that Mark and I sit down with our mothers to plan out the seating for the outdoor reception. Placing relatives next to the wrong person can be a disaster waiting to happen she said, and likened it to a minefield. One bad move and there could be casualties. So main objective is to avoid restraining orders and/or bloodshed. Right. Apparently is a v. delicate process. Began to understand what she meant as we spent the better part of an hour moving Uncle Herb about like a chess pawn on the markerboard map Margaret had created. We couldn't put him next to Aunt Margo because of some madness where he had apparently swindled her out of 25,000 pounds of her personal account during a botched business venture thus ending their already stormy marriage. We tried putting him with cousin Emma, with hopes that he would not try to seduce him…er, her with his smarmy charms and phony capital investments. He used to be cousin Ed. The operation was quite successful I must admit. Can hardly tell. According to Elaine Darcy, Mark's cousin Charles and his wife Petra aren't any better about provoking family scandal. They have a rather uncouth manner of sharing their unique flavour of socializing. Swinging, I think it's called. They are quite an embarrassment to the family, but thankfully they do not carry the Darcy name, but rather Montgomery, Mark's mother's maiden name. I'm not even sure why they were invited. If it were up to Mark he would just as soon forget they had any relation to them whatsoever. He has suggested that when Charles is around that I remain as close to him as possible mentioning something about Uncle Geoffrey being a walk in the park in comparison to Charles. Gaah!! From learning of this, I felt a further kinship to Elaine. Maybe the Montgomerys aren't so different from the Joneses.

**10:15am** Wait a minute…here's something that doesn't look like a wedding response addressed to Mark…from Air New Zealand. Goody!!!!

**6:30pm** Am off to Heathrow with Jude and Shazzer to fetch Tom. Long lost best friend will be staying with Jude and Richard until after wedding. Hurrah!!!! Have missed him.

**Friday May 10**

_Weight: 9st 7; Cigarettes: 40 (at least); Childhood memories: Several; Days til wedding: 2 _

**8:15am Our bedroom **"Shhh!" I warned with a playful giggle. "You're going to wake your mum and dad."

"_I_ am? You're the one making primal animal noises," he grunted through prurient preoccupation. And when it was all over we quite literally tumbled over the side of the bed into a sweaty heap, laughing breathlessly. "Mark, promise me this won't end," I added after our laughter subsided, by then lying side by side staring at the ceiling.

He pulled himself up onto one elbow. "What won't end?"

"Jude said that she and Richard never have sex anymore. I don't want that to happen to us." Drew my head against him, fingering his patch of chest hair. "Promise me that you'll be just as horny for me when all our fur is shabby and our eyes have dropped out."

"Pardon?" he chuckled softly.

You know…Like the Velveteen Rabbit and the Skin Horse."

"Oh, of course," he replied with blatant uncertainty.

"Didn't your mum ever read the Velveteen Rabbit to you when you were a little boy?"

He thought for a moment, looking a bit sheepish. "Perhaps my nanny had. I don't recall."

Ran the fingers of one hand through his already messed up hair. Disguising my sadness with my best chipper smile, "I'll be sure to make room in my luggage so that I can read it to you on our honeymoon then."

For a long moment our eyes were fixed on one another, but neither of us spoke. Then, he leaned in and kissed me with such gentle tenderness that my heart actually hurt for him.

"So which am I…the Rabbit or the Horse?" he whispered.

"Definitely the Rabbit," I replied with a giggle, thinking of the smallish bald patch on the top of his head that I knew he'd rather I not mention.

----

**Still lying on floor after lovely snogging session** "I have something for you," he said, rising from the floor and crossing the room naked, still quite erect from the effects of the medication. I'd almost prefer he covered up as I found myself struggling not to stare or act on my impulses, but he seems to have become much more comfortable. I call it his super power.

He pulled something from the bureau and returned to the bedside. "It's my wedding gift to you," he said as he presented a small blue box secured with a gold ribbon. "If it looks proper with your gown, I'd like for you to wear it on Sunday."

"Mark," I sniffled and wiped away a tear. "I'm never taking it off." He could not have given me a more cherished and thoughtful gift. It was the engraved locket I had returned to his mother months ago. It was just as it was before. The pictures of the two of us as children were still inside. He clasped it around my neck and we hugged. I did have a gift for him, of course, but it was nothing as meaningful. I wanted to exchange the marble desk clock that Mum had talked me into. It would likely only remind him of all the times in the last several weeks when I'd gone all bridezilla on him and accused him of not caring about me because he'd shown up late for appointments. Somehow cake tastings and suit fittings just seemed stupid now.

And so after an amazingly raucous farewell shag of sorts Mark is getting ready to go off to work to tie up some loose ends, leaving me with his parents. They followed us back to London after last night's rehearsal and are staying at our house until the wedding. Hopefully they didn't hear us…

**8:55am **"Don't forget to pack lightly for the honeymoon," he reminded with a shameless wink as we privately said our good-byes in the foyer. Did he say it because we were going someplace exotic and tropical, or that we would be naked most of the time and so existence of clothing would just be frivolous? He has playfully refused for weeks to say where we are going exactly, but being the intrepid reporter, researcher, and snoop that I am, already know that those tickets that arrived last week are for two weeks in Fiji. Probably shouldn't have called the airline to confirm, but how else was I to know what to pack. Had to be done. How embarrassing would it be to have touched down on exotic tropical island with a suitcase full of jumpers and ski trousers. Right. Must act surprised when Mark tells me of our destination.

Mmmm…am picturing Mark's deeply tanned and toned body lying on the sand. He of course has traded his watch, likely worth half the cost of my car, for braided leather bracelets. He'll let his hair grow out some so that his natural curls will fall loosely. Perhaps he'll even pierce his ear. A small hoop would be sexy…or maybe a gold stud. Not sure which.

Gaah!!!! Have less than 48 hours to shop for swimsuit that accentuates self's perky breasts and minimizes hippopotamus bottom.

When Mark returns home this evening, I'll not be here. With both of us having our respective hen and stag parties, reluctantly we decided to spend the next two days apart to add to the anticipation of our nuptials on Sunday afternoon. He's staying here. I'm bunking with Shazzer.

**12:15pm** Hurrah!!! My dress has just been delivered! It came from a v. posh shop in Fulham that Mother Darcy (that's what I've decided to call her) took me to with Mum tagging along, of course. Thank goodness! One less detail to sort out. After a half dozen or so emergency fittings, a lot of tears of both panic and joy, and again, the Darcy's financial support, I now have the most gorgeous simple but elegant strapless ivory silk gown I've ever seen. The embroidered bodice is very slimming indeed. With all the nervous eating have been doing, can't believe how skinny I look in it!! Just love how it swishes about when I walk without being too poofy. All of those physically painful and humiliating evening running sessions with Mark have paid off. I don't want to discredit Mum's dress. It was beautiful as well, but there's almost something magical about this dress…I feel transformed…like a princess.

**4:15pm **Mark's dad excused himself to pop off for a pint or two at Mall Tavern while his mum and I chatted. With her she had brought boxes of photos from Mark's childhood. I'd gotten the fantastic idea from Margaret that at the reception I would display photos of Mark, me, and of us together as children. Mum had already found some from her collection earlier in the week. I especially love the one where Mark is pulling me round the lawn in a wagon at our old house in Buckingham. He was maybe six then. There was another where he was trying rather unsuccessfully, judging by the frustrated expression on his face and the look of fright on mine, to teach me how to ride a bicycle. Some things never change. Just looking at the photos again made me weepy.

In another one I took notice of how handsome he looked in his waistcoat and trousers, but so very young to be wearing such an old fashioned uniform of dark tails and top hat. There were others of similar poses, each of him a year or so older. Mother Darcy watched as I studied the old photos one by one. "Mark was awarded a Junior Scholarship before he was accepted to Eton. He's about 13 in this one." She smiled pridefully, looking at her young son's likeness. "Always such fine looking boys my sons were, wouldn't you agree?" I smiled in agreement.

"Didn't you miss your children…while they were away at school?"

She took her eyes from a photo of Mark posing in a football costume. "Yes Dear, I did, but it's a tradition in my husband's family that I felt was important to honour. As you can see, both Peter and Mark are quite well-rounded, intelligent men." Decided against disputing her statement as only a half-truth and taking any pointless digs at Peter Darcy's decided lack of social decorum.

"But didn't you feel as if you were missing out on seeing them grow up?"

"They both went to day-school until sixth form. After that Malcolm and I would visit, or they would come home for visits. Mark and Peter quite enjoyed the camaraderie of their peers, and Mark excelled not only in academics, but in both football and fencing as well. They didn't suffer any by being away from home if that's what you mean." Uncomfortably I said nothing, thinking of how Mark could barely disguise his disappointment of never having been read The Velveteen Rabbit by his own mum, and went back to sifting through old photos. "Bridget…" She placed her hand over my wrist. "Is something the matter?" Bit my lip. "I want us to be close, dear. Please do not feel frightened if you have something to say."

"I told Mark that I would not allow our children to go away to school." There, I'd said it. Could only hope that she wouldn't take the dress back and refuse to allow me to be a part of their family. She watched me blankly. Inhaled heavily, unable to read what she was thinking and went on, "I know that you and Admiral Darcy probably think of Jamie and me as being beneath Mark and Peter, but…"

"Bridget Dear…"

I continued, "It's important to me to keep my children at home. I don't want to miss a single moment of their young lives. It all goes by so fast as it is."

Mother Darcy stiffened, and then with a rather dour, disapproving frown she responded. "And what does Mark say of this?"

Phew!! As turns out, my fear in telling Mark's mother of my disinclination to have my future sons brainwashed was completely unfounded. After the initial shock she seemed touched that Mark would make such a gesture. I think she understood and I sensed regret that Admiral Darcy hadn't been able to do the same for her. "My son loves you very much."

"Yes, I believe he does." I smiled confidently.

"I'm sure Mark's father will be disappointed," was the only other comment she made on the subject as we once again sifted through photos of past Christmases, birthdays, sporting events, award ceremonies, bad haircuts, and broken bones. Mark had faired much worse in the latter two than his older brother. Peter was much too vain and, shall we say, prissy to subject himself to such things. Mark was much more 'the boy next door'…the rather uptight 'boy next door'.

Then I saw her. "Who is this?" I held out a picture of Mark, maybe 23 or 24, sitting with his arm around a gorgeous dark-haired girl of about the same age. The picture was taken in the Darcy home. I recognized their old sofa that is now in my parent's sitting room. They were smiling toward the camera with their cheeks practically touching. I felt a pang of jealousy.

She hesitated, studying the photo pensively. "Oh…what was her name? Lovely American girl..." A smile crept over her face as the light bulb flickered on. "Yes…Vivian Sloane, Mark's first serious…" She looked up at me and froze mid-sentence before beginning again. "I can tell by your face that Mark has never mentioned her."

"He's mentioned her. He's just never elaborated. American you say. Do tell," I said defensively.

"It's not my place, dear, I think that any _elaboration_, as you say, should come from him."

Interesting.


	31. Chapter 30b Spinster No More

**Bridget Jones: Beyond Reason**

Chapter XXX

Spinster No More

(Part II)

**Saturday May 11**

_Weight: 9st 9, New best friends: 1 (possibly 5), Days til wedding: 1 (Hurrah!)_

**2:45pm Shazzer's Flat **_'Colours of the world…Spice up your life…Every boy and every girl…Spice up your life…People of the world…Spice up your life…Aaahh!!! Slam it to the left…If you're having a good time…' _

Ugh! Maybe had too good a time last night. Was only going to have one drink…maybe three tops. Actually it was Jude's idea to pop round the pub for a bit of pre-show fun. Now look at me. Is eve of self's wedding and can hardly lift head from the mattress having shown absolutely no personal growth and maturation. Am no better now than was day of Turkey Curry Buffet when I blithered on to Mark like some cow about having way too much drink and should have head in toilet.

Oh God! Excellent idea…

**2:50pm** Feel a little better…Anyway, here's what happened, as best as can remember…Really have no idea how Jude and Shazzer had self control enough to keep it from me for almost a month, what with us being #1 Spice Girls fans.Brilliant Magda is the best Matron-of-Honour ever! (Just between her and I, she is my _actual_ matron-of-honour) She had managed to get us all tickets for the Spice Girls reunion show at O2 despite fact that it had sold out in just 38 seconds!! Blimey! She said Jeremy and Mel C's solicitor are mates and that's how she got them. What amazing luck! The more I thought about it I realized that if Jeremy is mates with Mel C's solicitor, Mark probably is as well. And since Mark and I are mates (obviously), I'm practically friends with a Spice Girl!!! Sporty has always been my absolute favourite actually. Really should have her round for tea some time soon. Mel and her boyfriend will be our first ever guests, and Mark and I can impress them with our posh new china…after we get back from Fiji of course. Oooo, maybe she'd even feel inclined to bring Mel B, Emma, Geri, and Victoria round with her. Posh could bring dishy David Beckham, and he and Mark can discuss football while the girls and I chat and become the best of friends. May even be able to get some fashion tips and juicy celebrity gossip to use on my new job. Perhaps they'll let me interview them as guests for my chat show…I mean the chat show that I'll be reporting for, of course. Goody!!!! Will be a brilliant hostess am sure! Mark will be v. proud of me and we'll have loads of famous friends. V.G.

Oops!! Have gotten off track a bit. Anyhow, the concert was amazing (I think). Mostly remember flashes of blinding multicolor light, the fabulous Roberto Cavalli outfits, and the peculiar look I got from Shazzer when I leaned in to comment on how fantastic Baby Spice looked in her post-baby figure. Shazzer, or Cranky Spice as Tom and I had dubbed her, was an absolute bore. Ever since she and Eddie had decided to go on some mad health kick whereby eschewing all meat, alcohol, and cigarettes she's been the most dreadful horror. She spent most of the night swaying in one spot, sipping Diet Coke, and complaining about people bumping into her, while the rest of us joked around and danced until we were out of breath. If she didn't want to be there, why bother coming? She didn't want to talk about it.

**6:40pm **Last night of spinsterhood. Hurrah!!! Tom was adamant about convening at the Electric for one last (single) meeting of the Dating War Command. Have suspicion that he's got a surprise for me, or was it that after a week he couldn't stand being alone in the house for one more second than necessary with Jude and Richard. "Girlfriend, you've never heard such a bitch-fest," he confided. So glad he's home…if only for a week. Our lives are all changing and it's time that we celebrate that for what it is. Jude has now been married for over a year (though quite unhappily), Shazzer seems to have found someone who doesn't try to squelch her feminist ways (most of the time), but rather embraces them. Eddie _officially_ moves in next week. Hopefully when the truth comes out, young Eddie will be as copasetic as we are that 40 is the new 30. Even Tom has had the same boyfriend for three whole months…consecutive months even. I know I should be ecstatic to spend this time with my friends, but all I really want to do is soak in the bath and talk to Mark. Haven't seen him since yesterday morning and I miss him terribly. Why hasn't he called? Am wondering if Jeremy, Nigel, and Giles have taken him out again tonight, and was he was feeling as sick as I was this morning? He never told me exactly what they were going to do. Am not sure he even knew.

Ooh…mobile…

**6:55pm** "Mark!?" Caused tidal wave of soapy water onto tile lunging over edge of tub.

"Jones!!" The familiar smarmy voice didn't register right away.

"Oh…It's just you. Hello Daniel. What do you want?" I responded coolly. Hastily circulated bubbles round to cover any vital parts just in case he was somehow able to see or sense my nakedness through the phone.

"Is that any way to greet a former lover?" I made a gagging motion.

"Have you called so that you can try to steal me away from Mark again, or so that I can gloat about my new job?" I asked smugly. UK Today is Sit Up Britain's biggest rival and consistently beats them in weekly ratings. Will take personal satisfaction in sticking it to Daniel and Richard Finch.

"If you're up for a good shag I can be there in 10 minutes…Where are you, Darcy's?"

"Daniel Cleaver, do you have a neurological disorder?!? I'm hanging up."

"Wait…wait. Fine. Perhaps after the wedding then. So what's this about a new job?"

Told him of my new glamourous career as a 'lifestyle commentator' for UK Today. Then emphasized that my work on the show would show everyone at Sit Up Britain, Pemberley Press, and anyone else that ever said that I was a talentless flake that Bridget Jones-Darcy is a self-confident, professional, woman of substance and am going to be a star.

"Right. Well…I look forward to seeing that. You deserve success," was all he said, sounding completely serious and even a bit sweet.

"What? No snide comments…no arrogant comebacks?"

"Actually, I was calling to tell you that I'm leaving for LA in three days."

"Bit of a holiday to work on your tan, eh?"

"Not exactly. You see there's this gorgeous red-head I've been seeing…" Right. It seems that _most_ of his stories begin with 'There's this girl…'. He went on about some model. Some early 20-something stick insect no doubt, that he met while she was on assignment in London for a magazine shoot. I didn't ask any further questions because he might think I cared, and that I somehow wanted him back. Was relatively certain though that I hadn't heard nor seen the last of Daniel Cleaver. He'd be back sooner than later. So I just wished him luck. "And good luck as well with your wedding tomorrow Bridget." Thought I detected sadness in his voice actually. Could it be the agony of defeat? But wait…

"How did you know Mark and I were getting married tomorrow?"

"It's in the Evening Standard…Anyway Bridge, I just thought I should wish you well. I'm off…women to bed you know…Ha. Old habit. I mean I've got packing to do."

**7:25pm **From announcement section of the London Evening Standard: _After a tumultuous courtship peppered with infidelity and arrests for public misconduct and suspicion of drug smuggling, Bridget Jones, 35, former television personality for Sit Up Britain, has finally managed to get her man. On Sunday May 12, she and renowned human rights barrister Mark Darcy, 39, will be married in an undisclosed location in the Wiltshire countryside. This will be the second marriage for Mr. Darcy. He had been briefly married to CNN foreign correspondent Mailoni Nakamura. This will be Ms. Jones's first marriage. Best of luck to the happy couple!_

Why not verbal incontinence, public drunkenness, and just general clumsiness? They seem to have covered every other embarrassing misstep or misunderstanding. Do not care for whole negative slant of article thinly disguised as lovely wedding announcement. '_… finally managed to get her man' _Chuh! As if had to hunt him down like some wild animal and am now holding him captive in my lair for the rest of his life. And why did it have to mention my age? Grrrr Why not my weight too? The least the newspaper could have done is publish a decent photo. But instead look like a splotchy blowfish with stiff mad hair. Recognize it as one from a law council event last year. Mark looked fabulous as always. Who is the evil jellyfisher that wrote this?

Hope Mark doesn't see it.

**Midnight **Hurrah!!! Tom has resurrected his career as a pop star finally! Unbeknownst to self Tom has been making quite a go of things in San Francisco as a rather flamboyant Jake Shears-esque clone fronting a Scissor Sisters tribute band. That explains the pierced eyebrow and bleached-blonde hair that none of us were particularly keen to, but decided not to bring up. Makes him look…well, rather gay actually. Tonight he treated the girls and me to a show, complete with glittery trousers. He even pulled me up on stage to sing Take Your Mama Out, the same song he and I used to drunkenly sing karaoke to. I make a brilliant Ana Matronic if I do say so myself.

**Sunday May 12 My Wedding Day**

_Weight: 9st 9(Disastrous, but at least the gown fits); Cigarettes: Millions (but am definitely quitting tomorrow); Secrets revealed: 1; Husbands: 1; Happy endings: 1_

**6:15am Shazzer's Flat** Exceptionally bad start to what should be best day of any Sad Singleton's life. Neck v. stiff as was sleeping in awkward sideways fetal position with possible cauliflower ear from repeated bangings against wooden sofa arm. Bloody Eddie stayed over (again) and heaven forbid Shazzer should have _him_ sleep on the sofa. But will not let sleep deprivation or minor facial disfigurements spoil the fact that today am marrying Mark Darcy. Do believe am luckiest woman in England! No, in the universe! With any luck will be a married woman in 8 hours. 8 hours!!!! Today is going to be perfect! Hurrah!!!!

**6:18am** "Don't panic! I'm sure it will pass." Shazzer burst out of the bedroom looking like she'd been trampled by a herd of elephants or similar during the night, clicked on the lounge telly, and searched for the weather report. Seems the whole of England is covered in swirly green, yellow, and red blotches. To this point had not even realized that steady rain was falling outside the flat window.

**6:25am** Have decided in all fairness to Mother Nature to give rain 30 more minutes. Will just sit here in relaxed state and enjoy tranquil sounds.

**6:55am** Dooooooooooooooom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**7:03am** Mobile ringing…Mum.

"Don't you worry Darling," was the first thing she said not even waiting for me to say hello. "Mummy's got it all under control," she blurted in a thinly disguised calm.

"Right. Are you going to perform a rain dance?!!" I snarled. "It's a sign. I know it is. I must have been mad to think that someone like me could be married to someone like Mark. I'm not good enough! I'm destined to be old and fat, with…"

"Don't be so dramatic Bridget…There's no need to ring up the animal shelter just yet." How did she know what I was going to say? Perhaps have been a bit redundant with the self-loathing. "Just be a good girl and make sure that you arrive at your friend, Magda's by half 12, or shall I have Daddy come round and pick you up on his way to the airport to fetch Jamie and the girls?"

"No Mother. I'm driving with Sharon."

"It's such a pity to not to have the twins in their own auntie's wedding. Surely they're just heartbroken." Mum and I had gone round and round about my decision to exclude the twins for weeks. Could not seem to make her understand that was obligated to have Magda's little monsters in the ceremony, and did not want the procession to resemble a children's parade any more than it already would.

"Yes, I'm sure they're scarred for life. Listen Mum, I've got loads to sort out. I'll see you soon." Rang off as Eddie shuffled into the room bare-chested in Harley Davidson underpants and holding out a steaming cup of coffee.

"Sharon told me to bring this to you." Didn't realize just how much I was shaking until I'd taken the cup from him and nearly burned my hands.

After Eddie had gotten dressed and despite the monsoonal conditions outside, he and I trudged up and down the stairs, throwing holdalls and carriers filled with wedding paraphernalia into the car. Shazzer, meanwhile, holed herself up in the bedroom. Said she wasn't feeling well, but I knew it was just an excuse, like the time she feigned a migraine to avoid having to help me move house, or when she couldn't help me baby-sit my friend, Vanessa's, kids because she swore she was actually allergic to people under the age of 14. Why wasn't she helping me this time?!? Me. Her best friend…the one getting married today…in the bloody rain.

We barely spoke during the two hours at the salon, and she offered no excuses or apologies. Jude spent the entire time whining about how shitty being married is and how her husband refuses to go to counseling but instead chooses to ignore her. "That is just such typical male behaviour," Shazzer piped in angrily. "Always refusing to acknowledge…"

"Shut up! Just shut up both of you!!!!" Something in me just snapped. Jude and Shazzer's mouths dropped open in mute horror. "What would you really know about _typical_ male behaviour? You never give anyone a fighting chance! It's only a matter of time before you run Eddie off just like you did Simon and all the others before him! And you…" I turned to Jude. "Have you ever once considered that maybe the problem isn't Richard at all, but you! And maybe he ignores you because you nag him to distraction! If you're so bloody unhappy then cut your losses and move on!" Jude was offended, I could tell from her tight-lipped, beetroot red expression. She started to object but I cut her off. "Today is MY fucking wedding day and if you can't be happy for ME then…then just stay away! I don't want you there! And that goes for you as well!" I focused my glare back on Sharon. "What the hell is the matter with you anyway?!? You won't talk to me or lift a finger to help, and you've been a miserable shit for weeks! If this is your bloody way of saying that you STILL disapprove of me marrying Mark…I. Don't. Need. Your. Approval. At one time I thought I did, but now I know for certain that I do not! I love him, he loves me, and we're getting married TODAY…with or without you there to support me!!!" It felt good to get it all out. Cathartic, in fact. Perhaps should have done it sooner. I could have gone on, but in all my flustered frustration my mascara was beginning to run and I wanted to be beautiful for Mark. That's what mattered today. Mark.

Things were strained at best after that between the three of us. Jude sulked off angrily, and Shazzer and I returned to her flat in silence. "There you are," Eddie said cheerfully, coming to help Shazzer out of her coat. "Car's all packed except for your dress, Bridget."

"Thanks Eddie," I replied glumly, removing my own coat and polythene rain hat and dashing off to the bedroom without addressing Shazzer at all. Things would be ok I told myself. I've still got Magda. She won't let me down.

----

Perpetual battle to keep mixture of happiness and disappointment from exploding in form of crying spasm as I stood facing the full-length mirror in the tiny, cluttered room staring at a person I hardly recognized. My hair was swept into an updo with loose pieces of fringe falling to either side (which were actually still in curlers). Am done up more than usual, but I don't look too lacquered. That's not what Mark would want.

I spun slowly, looking over my shoulder, posing in the mirror like a model for Modern Bride. "You look gorgeous," Shazzer said, breaking my self-absorbed spell. I hadn't heard her open the door.

"Thank you," I said stiffly, not bothering to turn toward her. She clasped the Darcy's locket around my neck.

"There. Now you're perfect." She reached her arms round my shoulders from behind and our reflections made eye contact for the first time since my tirade in the salon. "I'm really happy for you Bridge, and I'm sorry for being such a bitch these past few months." I really felt that she meant it.

I squeezed her folded arms in front of my chest and touched the side of my head to hers. "Just the past few months?" She raised her head and right eyebrow. I raised mine as well. "I'll get you back when it's your turn," I added cutting my eyes toward Eddie.

She shushed me with a nervous smile as Eddie snapped a picture of the two of us. There's a lot more that needed to be said of course, but for now that was enough.

"We'd better get on the road soon ladies," Eddie reminded, tapping on his watch, and leaving again.

Disaster soon struck when removing the dress as was so focused on not snagging my nails or mussing my hair or face, that I did not notice the leg of Eddie's guitar stand and proceeded to trip and snag my heel as I staggered to keep from falling. Shazzer caught me from taking a header into a pile of dirty clothes, but my shoe put a gigantic rip in the silk skirt of my gown. Didn't know whether to hyperventilate or scream, so I did both. Shazzer started running round shouting "fuck" a lot trying frantically to find a needle and thread. Instead she came back with a fat roll of metallic-silver utility tape. "What if we just stick it on the inside? Surely if women can use tape to keep their boobs from popping out, it will hold a dress together!"

"No!!! Noooooo!! I've got to get this fixed!!! The gown has to be perfect. Mark will want me to be perfect…I just have to…"

"Bridget there's no time! It's already going to take at least an hour and a half to get there with this rain."

"You and Eddie take my car with all the stuff and go. I'll follow in your car." Was pacing and shaking. "It shouldn't take long to fix, right?" No answer. "RIGHT?!?!"

"Of course." Shazzer took a step toward me. "Are you going to be alright Bridget?!? Maybe I should stay with you. Eddie can take your car."

"Just go so you can unload the fucking car before I get there!!!!!!" Eddie started to say something but Shazzer shushed him and pulled him out the door.

**12:15pm Bridal Boutique car park in Fulham** Hurrah!! Gown is stitched up, repressed, and safe inside garment carrier. Back in Shazzer's car covered in unflattering, plastic, tarp-like thingy as is still raining and must shield hair and face. Will be under way just as soon as this sodding bin lorry blocking the exit finishes loading rubbish. Am supposed to be at Magda's in 15 minutes, but is ok. Must remain levelheaded. Will still have plenty of time to change out of shorts and top and touch up hair and make-up before the actual ceremony.

Had better ring Mark though.

"This is Mark Darcy's answer service. Leave a message after the tone." Bugger. Was really wanting to hear his lovely voice and not automated substitute as would soothe self's frazzled nerves. Maybe is in the shower. Mmm…lovely image. Left message saying everything was sorted out and am on my way. Surely Shazzer has arrived and would fill in the details.

Mobile rang right back, but was Margaret calling to vent her irritation with the children pointing and giggling at the naked penises on the Cupid statues that Mum was so insistent upon having and how "her" flowers were being pummeled by rain. "Just get here soon Bridget!" she exasperated before ringing off. Suddenly it's all about her and how her day is going wrong. Grrrr

Oh!! Bin lorry moving…

**9:45pm Honeymoon Suite at Swindon B&B **Have now been married for 6 and a half glorious hours. So far am loving being the wife of the kindest, smartest, sexiest man ever! But am having to take a much needed rest from wedding night festivities while Mark takes care of some v. important business. No, not lawyer business. That can certainly wait. Rather, there are morning flights and Fijian bungalows to confirm and room service to order. "Don't forget the whipped cream, Sweetheart." Mmmm…

For better or worse though, and through every ridiculously clichéd thing that could have happened and seemingly did, I don't ever want to forget a moment of this day. Had better finishing telling what happened…while I still have the strength…

The way life usually goes when things are bad, it got a lot worse before it got better. And as the saying goes, Hindsight really is 20/20, especially when you are a child of Pamela Jones. As usual I made errs in judgment. So when Shazzer's car got a flat just before I was about to get onto M4, I rang up the only person in my mobile directory who wasn't already 70 miles away and who just so happened to live nearby. Big mistake.

----

A hooter sounded from behind, and then my name. A car pulled up beside me and the door was thrust open. "Hey Sunshine! Need a lift?" Tim shouted sympathetically over the sound of the pouring rain. I hesitated momentarily as my mind reeled back to the first time he'd ever called me that, the morning after our first sleepover. "How lucky that you broke down so close to my house. Get in!" _Yeah. Lucky. Humph._ Tossed my garment carrier in the backseat and slammed the door. "Pardon me for asking," he began, as he flicked a bead of water from my eyelash, "but aren't you and Mark supposed to be getting married…" He consulted his watch. "in about 45 minutes?"

"Yes! Will you please, please, _please_ take me there?!?" I begged desperately. "I didn't know who else to call."

"At your service then. Where to, Madam?" he responded in a mock chauffer-like tone and tipping his imaginary hat.

"Not far from Swindon. I don't mean to be rude, but please hurry!"

Once under way, was finally able to relax. Laid my head back against the seat and inhaled deeply. Was going to be a bit late, but everything would be fine. Yes, everything will be fine kept telling self. Mark will be understanding as usual and everything will be lovely. My pulse began to finally slow and it wasn't long before I felt the extreme awkwardness of the situation at hand and tried to make idle conversation. "So how have you been?"

"Very well, thanks," he began cheerfully. "I'm finally settled into my new house in Chiswick...Hmm, let's see…oh, and I've been seeing someone for a few weeks now. Nothing serious, but you never know."

"Super." Flashed a fake smile without diverting my eyes from the road in front of us. _Oh God! This is uncomfortable._

"After you and Mark return from your holiday, the four of us should go out for supper."

"Perhaps." _Are we there yet?_

----

Nearly a half hour passed without a single word between us, only the sound of an old Roxy Music cd playing low. Am in crazed state of frustration as had wanted to ring Mark again and soon realized after emptying entire contents of my purse in my lap that I'd left my mobile in Shazzer's car. Tim offered his phone but I declined. Don't want Mark to freak out when he sees Tim's name pop up on his mobile and then I answer. Wonder if can also have Tim drop me secretly round the corner from the house and will just walk rest of the way.

The rain was finally gone, but the clouds still cast dreary shadows across the countryside, threatening to open up again at any moment. "Bridget?" Closed the sun visor after checking my hair for the hundredth time. "Do I make you nervous?"

_Yes, petrified in fact._ From the corner of my eye I had noticed him watching me several times throughout the silence. "Nervous? No, of course not," I answered too quickly with an uneasy chuckle. "Why on earth would you make me nervous?"

"I'm truly happy for you and Mark, you know." He brushed his finger against my bare thigh sending a shiver down my spine as he reached for something in the console between our seats. Whether it was intentional or not am not certain. "Sweet?" He offered a packet of peppermints to which I declined. He popped a piece into his mouth and discarded the rest back into the console. "Mark Darcy is a brilliant attorney just like his brother. I'm looking forward to being his associate for many years to come."

Felt a momentary flutter at the mere mention of my fiancé's name, but could hold my tongue no longer. "Tim, be straight with me…Does your joining Mark's partnership have anything to do with me?"

He didn't answer straight away. "That's mighty presumptuous of you, now isn't it?…May I remind you that I most certainly am not that Cleaver fellow you once told me about. I've worked long and hard to get to where I am professionally." He wasn't shouting, but the protruding veins in his neck and white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel displayed his distress. "Do you honestly think I would compromise my career and my character in that manner?" He had stiffened up in the same manner that Mark does when his feathers are ruffled. Must be a lawyer thing.

"Right. I'm sorry. But you have to admit that it is rather coincidental…I guess I'm just on edge about the day I've been having."

He studied the road signs. "Well my dear, I believe we are just about there. Are you ready?" He took my hand. I squeezed it tightly.

"More than you know," I replied confidently, but with a catch of the same uneasiness I'd had throughout the drive in my throat. "It means so much to me, you bringing me all this way. I owe you."

It hadn't even occurred to me until the house came into view that Tim had not once asked for directions once I'd given him the general location. He remembered and must have assumed. I felt terrible having asked him to drive me to the place where I had betrayed him. Yes, he had betrayed me as well, but nevertheless there were real feelings involved in our brief affair, and this was unspeakably insensitive on my behalf.

Cars lined the long winding gravel drive and surrounding grassy areas. The giant white marquee was partially visible in the side garden as was the heather and rose covered arbor leading down to where the lakeside ceremony was to be. A few scattered guests strolled the expansive grounds and little children in suits and dresses dodged from tree to tree, screaming and laughing. Butterflies fluttered about in my stomach. This was it!! This was really it…my wedding day!!!! It was going to happen!!!

"I've troubled you enough, Tim. I'll go the rest of the way. Thanks for the ride," I said hastily, trying not to sound outwardly desperate. Swung the car door open and leapt out before he'd even come to a full stop, waved, and crunched my way up the drive.

Had barely gotten to the circular area nearest the house when Mum burst through the front door and nearly bowled me over. "Young lady, where on earth have you been and what is the meaning of you bringing a date to your own wedding?!" she whispered tersely.

"_Date_?"

She directed her eyes beyond me. I turned to see Tim approaching on foot. "I believe you forgot something," he announced with a chuckle. My garment carrier was draped over his arm. Shit!!!!!

Took the dress from him and immediately Mum started in on me again. "Mark has tried to ring you back several times but there's been no answer. He's worried sick, poor dear. We didn't know what to think. Your brother and Jeffrey have gone off looking for you." She was walking so closely and clutching my wrist so tightly that I could barely move without stepping on her feet.

"Mother, have you been drinking?"

"Just a teensy bit of wine is all. Your father said it would calm my nerves."

"Mother, if you'd kindly get out of my way I'll explain everything…to _Mark_!" She let out a loud 'Humph', jerked away, and shot Tim another evil stare when she saw that he was following us into the house. "Are Sharon and Eddie here?" The question was soon answered as I stepped into the house and saw hers and dozens of other stunned eyes trained on me. There were a few gasps, some scattered applause, but for the most part not a word was spoken, not a glass was clinked. "Right."

Through the crowd Mark came barreling toward Tim with his fist raised. "Double-crossing son of a bitch!!!!! I'm going to break every bone in your body!!!" More gasps.

"NO!!!!!" I launched myself into Mark's heaving chest. "Shazzer's car broke down and Tim was kind enough to drive me up here! It's not what you think!!!!" The words tumbled out as quickly as I could form them.

"What!?! Where the bloody fuck is my fucking car?!!" Shaz blurted. Even more collective gasping.

"Young lady!"

"Oh shit! Uh, I mean…sorry Father, uh, Vicar…Sir. Right." Vicar Warren had been standing beside her. She shrunk back into the crowd.

Mark had lowered his fist, but was still staring daggers over my head at Tim. "Mark!! Look at me." I said it again and grabbed his clenched jaw, forcing him to look into my eyes. "It's not what you think…Let's talk privately, shall we?" He grudgingly followed me into a smaller sitting room, not relenting his glare from Tim until we had rounded the corner.

I grabbed hold of his shirtsleeve prompting him to jerk away defiantly and stalk off toward the picture window on the opposite end of the room. As I watched him my fear diminished into anger. "Mark Darcy, do you honestly believe what I know you're thinking?!! You're being absurd!"

He didn't turn around, but continued to stare off toward the hills in the distance.

"Mark!? Are you listening to me?" I took a few steps toward him.

"If you're going to leave me for him, please at least have the courtesy to do it _before_ we exchange vows," he finally said with sad authority.

Reeling forward, I threw my arms around his waist from behind, resting my face against his broad back. "Mark, I would never hurt you the way she did. I love you too much. You have to know this by now." He turned toward me sniffling and biting his lip. I took his smooth, clean-shaven face between my fingers. "These past two days that we've been apart have been torture."

"Our bed's been so cold without you in it." He pushed one of the curlers from my eye, then swept his thumb lightly across the curve of my upper lip. His eyes drifted to the locket around my neck eliciting a tiny smile.

We held each other tightly for a long minute before the events of the morning came spilling out. "What rotten luck," Mark responded softly, nuzzling his face to mine.

"I've always had a gift for it, wouldn't you say?"

He brought his warm, fervent lips down to mine as his hands explored their way across my back and came to rest on my bum.

Mum poked her head in grinning like a Cheshire cat. "It certainly seems as if everything is sorted between our lovebirds!" she announced back into the main room and then addressed us. "Tsk Tsk There will be plenty of time for that naughtiness on your honeymoon, young man. Mustn't keep everyone waiting any longer," she sing-songed and left the room.

As I headed up the stairs followed by my entourage of Magda, Sharon, Margaret, Mum, Una, and surprisingly enough, Jude, I overheard Mark asking the whereabouts of Tim to which Jeremy announced that he had gone.

Just as well.

----

"Oh my, you're so beautiful," Mum purred as she fussed with the heather sprigs that were part of my veil and then stepped back to survey me. Without even looking in the mirror could tell that I was glowing. The misty faces of my dearest friends told me that everything was finally going to be all right. My dress was perfect, not a hair was out of place, and my skin was flawless thanks to all manner of facials, body scrubs, chemical peelings, and much more make-up than I would ever normally wear. "I'd almost given up hope that this day would ever come."

"Thanks Mum," I replied dismissively while trying to practice the breathing exercises that Margaret had suggested for when I get nervous.

"Oh Pam, we've finally gone and done it…gotten our little Bridget married," Una gushed, clasping her hands together and looking me up and down appraisingly. Hate to admit it, but I do suppose I owe partial credit to Mum and Una. If they hadn't awkwardly forced me on Mark and then subsequently hounded me, this day might not have happened. I can't even imagine anymore what it would be like to be with anyone else.

"And then we all know what comes next…_grandbabies_," Mum and Una both gave a tinkling little laugh. Heckle and Jeckle obviously still don't understand Mark's…er, situation.

"The rain seems to be holding off for now and the guests are all seated in the garden," came a female voice through Margaret's walkie-talkie. "Is our bride ready?"

Still standing before the mirror, I closed my eyes and continued to inhale slowly and deeply.

"Bridge, do you need to sit down?" asked Jude, grabbing my elbow.

"Are you unwell? You look pale as a corpse," Shazzer asked, looking a bit green about the gills herself.

"She always looks that way," Mum chimed in. "Let's just hope Mark is taking her somewhere outdoorsy and exotic to put some natural pink back on those cheeks.

"She'll be blushing plenty these next few weeks, with or without the sun," Magda sniggered.

Everyone continued speaking excitedly, but I had no idea what was being said. Finally, with confident peacefulness I replied, "Margaret, tell her I'm ready…Tell her I've never been more ready for anything in my life."

Margaret scurried from the room, issuing directives into her walkie-talkie while the girls all gathered the bustle of my dress. Mum's eyes were teary as she dabbed at them with a wadded up tissue she'd pulled from her bra. "I can't believe this is finally happening," she exclaimed. She reached for her purse on a nearby chair. "I'll just go now and have that handsome friend of yours, Tom is it, escort me to my seat. I'm feeling a bit woozy actually. Come along Una."

Not three minutes passed and there was an urgent knock and Margaret reappeared with my escort. "Everything's in place. The rain isn't going to hold off for much longer and the vicar has another wedding. Is there a problem in here?!" She didn't want to hear it if there was. Margaret had gone into full mode of mad wedding planner on a mission. "Shall we go?" She clapped her hands and hurried out again leaving Dad behind.

"You are stunning Poppet! My little girl is all grown up and marrying her prince." He addressed me before turning to Mum who had not yet left the room. "It seems only yesterday that we were cradling her in our arms, bringing her home from hospital, doesn't it Pamela?" Through the open window Spring began to play from the stringed quartet below, signaling that it was time to get into place.

"Bridget!!!!" Came Magda's excited cry. "Mark's waiting!" She was rushing back from the window grinning from ear to ear. "Mark and the groomsmen are already at the altar!"

"Shall we, my lovely?" Dad asked, offering his arm. A wave of nausea passed through me. Oh God!!! This was it!! We filed out of the room and down the stairs.

----

Constance was a mini-me, with a white dress and a pink sash around her waist. Her blonde hair was done up just like mine and she was wearing lip-gloss. Harry looked ridiculous as was still nearly bald except for sparse uneven clumps of hair that stood up like cow-licks after Magda made good on her promise to shave his head as punishment. He and baby Nicholas were co-ring bearers. The three of them were first down the aisle. Mark was proud that our Godchildren were in the wedding. I, on the other hand, wasn't as pleased given their track record for mischief and destruction, and I swore to myself that if anything else went wrong today and they so much as sneezed I'd march them over to the lake and drown them. Lucky for them they made it down the aisle without incident. Jude, Shazzer, and then Magda went next as Dad and I awaited our cue. But when there was a commotion from the congregation, I craned my head round just in time to see Sharon, who had broken from the procession, wretch into a flower patch. Worse even, Giles, who had tried to do the gentlemanly thing by leaving the altar, as did Eddie from his seat, came to her aid and ended up with their shoes pooled in sick. What a nightmare! Was Jude's wedding all over again. She hadn't even had anything to drink last night as far as I know. Guess she really had been sick this morning after all. Felt a little bad and embarrassed for her, but mostly was angry. How could she do this to me!!! I prayed that nothing more would go wrong as Giles and Nigel both offered Sharon their pocket squares and she shamefully hobbled back into place. And then, just like in my dreams, the path cleared and I saw him…the partially clouded-over sunlight cast down on him, and seemingly him alone. He appeared so angelic and flawless that my heart started to flutter and I wanted to run to him. Dad pinned his elbow tightly to mine and firmly held my wrist reminding me to walk in time to the music. When the moment came for him to hand me off to Mark, he kissed my cheek and told me that he loved me.

As Mark and I held hands and spoke our vows to one another, I could not fight the rush of emotion having waited my entire life for this very moment, for him, the man of my dreams, to acknowledge his love and innermost feelings for everyone to witness. Privately I've always known, but it meant everything for me to hear him publicly speak the words of his vulnerabilities, fears, humanity, and eternal commitment to me, his wife. We both spoke of the cancer, and how sickness could have separated us, but instead brought us even closer as did the loss of our baby. The miscarriage, though a tragic event in itself, had renewed our love for one another, and so we owe our present happiness, ironically, to the child we lost. Both of our mothers could be heard sniffling as we exchanged these vows, and I saw a tear on Mark's cheek as well.

But then I realized it wasn't a tear on his cheek at all, but a raindrop. At first it was just a sprinkle, and by the time the vicar had barely finished, the sky opened up and Mark and I had to run for cover. Our first kiss as a married couple took place under the nearby dining marquee and witnessed exclusively by the cook staff. Despite that, I'll never in my life forget the smile on Mark's lips, albeit brief, as the vicar announced that we were indeed husband and wife.

And in little more than a blink of an eye my whole life had changed. I was married! I AM MARRIED TO MARK DARCY!!!! I still can't believe it…it hadn't immediately sunk in, even as Mark's ring was on his finger and he was kissing my hand. I owed a world of thanks to Margaret and Magda. They had planned and arranged everything so perfectly despite all of my fretting and mad tantrums. Sure, Mark and his family could have afforded us a grander affair, and I'm sure that in the future there will be many, but today's party was just as I had wanted it to be, simple and elegant.

For hours we danced, laughed, and chatted with friends and family. A spoon tinkled against a glass and we turned to find Dad and Admiral Darcy standing like matching balding penguins near the front of the marquee. "I'd like to make a toast…" Dad waited as the crowd drew closer. "Bridget's mother, Pamela, and I would like to thank everyone for joining us today on this joyously rainy, occasion. We could not be prouder of our lovely daughter Bridget for having the strength and determination to go after whatever she's ever wanted in life, including this man," Dad held out his arm in our direction, "Mark Darcy, for whom I've always held in the highest esteem since he was a young lad of seven, building forts with Bridget's brother, Jamie, in our sand pit only to have her come along and sit herself right down in the middle of it, spoiling hours of building." The crowd laughed and Mark kissed the side of my head. "Even then, he was always kind and patient with her whether she deserved it or not. Good luck to you son." Mark hoisted his champagne glass in Dad's direction as the crowd continued to chuckle and I pouted playfully. He went on to say that this was more than just the wedding of a couple, but a formal joining of two families that, despite ups and downs, had already been like one for years. Dad and Admiral Darcy patted one another on the back and synchronically took a swig from their glasses. When I spotted Mum scurry to the front of the crowd to join them, I squeezed Mark's hand tightly. "Helloooo," she sang out. "I'd like to make a toast as well." She looked thoughtfully in our direction as the crowd quieted again. "Bridget, Mark…" By the time she had finished, or rather by the time Dad and Mark's dad had led her away, Mark and I had disappeared into the crowd.

----

As much as was enjoying the celebration, what I really wanted was to be alone with my husband…_My husband_. What a lovely sound those two words have. Unfortunately, weddings are not exactly a private affair for a bride and groom with so many well wishes, toasts, and ridiculous dances to attend to. Though I must admit, it was quite a sight to see Mark awkwardly attempt the chicken dance with my friends, while his mother and father looked on in blatant horror. So when no one was looking, or commanding our attention we stole away together hand in hand to the quiet of Magda and Jeremy's cottage.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look?" I teased full knowing that I'd expressed my admiration and pride at least ten times already today.

"I believe you've mentioned it a time or two," he responded softly as we cuddled on the sofa. "But you, my dear, have never been more breathtaking than you are right now." He tucked a fallen hair behind my ear and tenderly kissed my neck with a gentle sigh. "I can't wait to get you out of this dress." He continued on to my bare shoulder. Naughty man…

"Mark?" He raised his face to meet my eyes. "Do you have any regrets about today?"

"Pardon? Why would you ask such a thing?" He traced his index finger over the crinkle between my brows and then down over the tip of my nose. "Darling, I can without question tell you that this is the happiest day of my entire life. What's on your mind?"

"I was just thinking about Peter."

"I see. I'm kissing you and you're thinking about my brother. Should I be jealous?" He dropped his hand, but kept his face close. The edges of his mouth were slightly curled upward.

"Of course you shouldn't, silly." Placed my hand on his cheek and lightly grazed my thumb over his dimpled chin. "It's just that he's not here, and…"

"Look Bridget, I appreciate the concern, but I don't want you to spend a second more worrying about that. I didn't really want him here anyway." I knew though that he did and that it had hurt his feelings when the invitation came back with regrets.

"I just know how important your family is to you." He stopped me from continuing with a passionate kiss.

"You've taught me how to love and how to accept love like no one else ever has. _You_ are my family, Bridget."

A tear trickled down the side of my nose. "And now you've gone an inherited my mother as well," I added with part humour, part vicious reminder. "I'm sorry that she embarrassed you today, Sweetheart. She never thinks before she speaks, does she?" I added, returning to complete seriousness.

He chuckled softly. "You've noticed that, have you? Let's just say I knew what I was getting myself into marrying into your family." He kissed the tip of my nose. "Furthermore my beautiful wife, I don't want you to ever apologize for something someone else says or does. Ok?" Dad was right. He truly is a kind and understanding man. Love him so v. much. The conversation ended in a passionate snog.

When a streak of pink flew by slamming the door behind it Mark and I stopped and waited for it to reemerge. A short time later Shazzer came out of the loo looking completely exhausted and defeated by whatever was making her so sick. "Oh, sorry," she said when she saw us. "And sorry about before as well. I told your friend, Giles, I'd buy him some new shoes."

"Come sit down. You look like shit. What's going on with you, Shaz?" I said as Mark stood to leave.

"I should, uh, get back out to the party so the two of you can talk."

"It's ok Mark. Stay." I pulled him back onto the sofa before either he or Shaz could object.

Mark and I were not prepared for the deluge of tears and cursing that ensued as Shazzer unloaded a secret she'd been carrying around for weeks. Seems that Eddie wasn't just going to be a passing fancy as Jude and I had figured, and he wasn't just moving in for easy access either. They were pregnant…and both scared shitless about it. "I've been afraid to tell you, Bridge."

Immediately I felt terrible and selfish that I had been so wrapped up in my own life to not notice the signs or to understand that her moodiness was not to do with me. Mark was petrified when she threw her arms around him and continued to sob. He patted her perfunctorily while I went to get her a glass of water. When I returned Jude and Tom were there, huddled in with Shazzer and Mark. Whether he wanted to be or not, Mark was now officially one of us and I couldn't have been happier.

I asked the photographer to take a picture of the five of us. We were all about to embark on a new chapter in our lives. While my marriage is just beginning, Jude has decided to take my advice and leave her husband, Tom is happily cohabitating in the States, and Shazzer, to spite herself, is going to have a baby.

----

And so the wedding went off without a hitch if you discount the ripped dress, being an hour and a half late, the rain, my best friend vomiting on a groomsman's shoes, and a rather embarrassing toast whereby my mother divulged to everyone Mark's sexual dysfunction as reason for presence of frozen sperm as only possibility for future grandchildren. Some might say this is just a typical day in the life of Bridget Jones.

Thank goodness am now Bridget Jones-_Darcy_. Life will be different now. Am certain of it.

----

Remember something I once read in The Road Less Traveled, 'Love isn't something that happens, it's something that you do.' And I do love Mark Darcy…with all of my heart.

As we opened the cottage door to embark upon our new life together, the looming clouds lifted and the beautiful sunset shown through. He took my hand, led me to the hired car that would take us to the place that our dreams are made of.

I'll not call this the end of _my_ story, but the beginning of _ours_. For now though, I'm closing my diary to give my honeymoon and new husband my undivided attention. Hmmm…

_End_


End file.
